I Gode Hender
by Artemis Day
Summary: Fate is a mysterious thing. No one ever knows what hand it will deal. Loki has never been one to follow the path laid out for him, but when he discovers the two souls waiting for him on Midgard, fighting fate is the last thing on his mind.
1. Loki

**A/N: Here's a fic that's been in the works for a million years. It's one I've dreamed of writing for so long, I can't even remember a time when it wasn't in my head. **

**I have the second chapter fully written. It'll probably be out when the third chapter is done. There will be five in all, with possibly more to come after. **

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Loki was in the library the first time it happened.

He had his nose in an herbal magic tome older than the All-Father and a head full of rare spices. Next week was his and Thor's annual hunting trip to Alfheim. When they failed to catch more than a few rabbits because Thor's idea of stealth was wrestling deer to the ground, he hoped to at least gather supplies for a few decent salves.

"Hah, that's what Eir is for," Thor would laugh, as he always did when Loki compared plant types to find the one that will not burn him away from the inside.

"Say it again when an ogre rips your arms off and Eir is nowhere to be found."

Sometimes, Loki wished Thor would get hurt so badly just so he could heal him with his homemade remedies and silence his jeers forever. It wasn't that Loki didn't love his brother, simply that Thor had needed a good knock on the head since they were boys. Perhaps longer.

He scratched out an incorrect line and rewrote it. That was when a knife went straight through his right hand.

Loki cursed and clutched his throbbing hand. He searched the winding row of books, sending out his magic and finding he was alone. If it was an attack, his foe was long gone. Loki checked his hand, finding no laceration, no blood, not even a scar. He traced a line from his pinkie finger to his thumb. His skin reacted accordingly to the touch. The long lines a drunken soothsayer once claimed meant he was destined to fall in love with his horse were unchanged.

The pain had left him, almost as suddenly as it came. What could have caused it if not an assassin's blade or a stray beast released from the enclaves? Loki had one idea. He checked the sun to confirm it. Another afternoon had passed and he'd been in this library for at least fifty hours. Such a long session was never good for the mind, even one as vast as his own. Clearly, the lack of sleep was getting to him. Giving him phantom pains.

He left his books and papers where they lay. The librarians knew better than to tamper with his space. The next morning, Loki took breakfast in Frigga's drawing room and then trained with Thor until noon. He returned to the library in the afternoon and remained until dawn, the events of the previous night forgotten.

* * *

"My body was weary from battle. Days had passed since my last sleep. With my armor caked in the blood of my foes, I carried on. For though the battle was long, the war was not yet over. Mjolnir guided me through the thickets-"

"And into the nearest stream to wash the dung out of your ears."

Thor's riotous laughter put all of his friends (their friends?) to shame. He wrapped one meaty arm around Loki's shoulders, hugging him until his bones ached. The pain was nothing, not after years of Thor's misguided displays of affection. Loki sipped his mead like all was well and the party raged on, likely for the next week.

"Brother, how is that you can keep to your own table all night and still find a way to interrupt my epic tale?" he asked.

"That is an excellent question," Loki said. "If you ever do tell an epic tale, I'll let you know."

"Come now, Loki," Thor squeezed his arm, making him wince. "This is a celebration! The ogres have been driven back and Alfheim is safe again. We couldn't have done it without you."

That was fair to say. Loki was not so humble that he couldn't admit they were lost without him. It was his magic which cloaked them as they infiltrated the enemy's encampment, and it was he who brought down the leader with a well-aimed blade to the chest. That Thor got the final blow was of no consequence. He never would've had a clear shot without Loki incapacitating their foe first. Honestly, he would've died anyway. Mjolnir simply sped up the process.

Try telling that to a horde of slobbering drunks who chanted Thor's name like the sun shone out his ass and treated Loki like a wall ornament. At least the food was good.

He reached for a leg of lamb and snatched his hand back when the meat burned him. Strange. It had been sitting out far too long to still be hot. Loki checked his palm and found no redness, though the searing pain continued long after it should have alleviated.

"Loki?" Thor's voice boomed.

"I'm fine," Loki said. He retrieved the lamb leg. It was room temperature. He turned his back to Thor who soon chalked it up to Loki's usual aloof nature and went back to his not-so-epic tale of whichever hideous beast he killed this week.

Loki kept to himself for the rest of the night, even more than usual. Every now and then, his eyes wandered back to his empty palm. It no longer hurt, but the burning had sent him back to a seemingly random night in the library. There was no way the two incidents could be related, though. That happened years ago.

Twenty-seven years to be exact.

* * *

It came and went intermittently for the next few decades. That inexplicable burning sensation. Always on his right hand. Always over the palm. He'd be reading or having his dinner or in an important council meeting, and all of a sudden, there it was. Like a hot poker pressed against his skin.

He stopped noticing it. Asgardians were no more immune to the passage of time than a common mouse, even if it did take an army to kill just one. Any mortal body, no matter how durable, came with its creaks and groans. This was just one of Loki's. Why he was ever concerned by something so petty, he'd never know. Just a moment of weakness he would not repeat again. A simple passing fancy.

One night, he awoke to the stabbing. He'd been on one of Alfheim many luxury beaches, taking in the sun while Thor and his troupe of mad drunks had their revelry elsewhere. He listened to the waves, thinking perhaps he'd take a walk through the forest or do some hunting. How nice it would be to keep all the spoils of a successful hunt for a change. Then a knife tore through nerves and tissue and he was back in his room in the royal palace.

"Why now," he mumbled, turning on his side. The pain persisted, long enough for cold realization to wash over him like an ice water bath.

It was his _left_ hand.

He bolted upright, knowing what he would find but needing to check anyway. His left hand was clear and blemish free, just like his right. He flexed his fingers, the joints bending into tight balls as he made a fist. The pain, as always, was gone. Like it had never been there. Like he imagined it.

The sun rose all too soon and a maid came to knock on his door. Today he was having tea with Frigga in the gardens. He'd never once kept her waiting and didn't plan to start now. His mind was miles away even as she refilled his cup and spoke of matters around the palace and surrounding city. It was a gloomy morning in late spring. The rains would come by mid-afternoon. Rolls of thunder reverberated off the landscape already, and Loki sighed. Thor was getting ahead of himself.

Every few seconds, he glanced at his palms, pure white and cool to the touch. "Mother, may I…"

She waited, but he never finished the thought. "Are you well, Loki? You seem distracted."

He curled his fingers once. Twice. Relaxed. "No… forgive me, I've been working harder than usual as of late."

Frigga smiled, and Loki was saved from a lecture about the importance of self-care by a breathless page boy skidding to a halt at their feet. He informed them that Vanaheim was in civil strife and required immediate assistance.

* * *

It was a long twenty-eight years.

Longer than they had any right to be. A Midgardian could go from swaddling clothes to adulthood. Loki felt like he'd aged a thousand years in the time between the declaration of war and the signing of the peace treaty. Why the Aesir needed to be present, he didn't know. Why they continued to be involved in this pointless conflict when they should've pulled out a decade ago, he also didn't know, but Odin loved to be the peacemaker and Thor loved to be the hero. From that point of view, staying was the only choice. And so, stay they did.

Loki let out a breath when the All-Father inked his name just below the Vanir kings. He'd half expected that hothead of a rebel leader to make a dramatic return from the dead and slit a few throats to get his enemies' blood boiling again. It wouldn't be the first time. The fool made Thor look like a pacifist and if Loki hadn't burned the body himself and thrown the ashes through a portal to Muspelheim, he'd be legitimately concerned.

But now the war was over, the insurgents jailed or placated, and life would return to normal for the people of Vanaheim and Asgard. Thor could go back to preparing to take the throne. Loki could go back to keeping Thor's head attached to his neck. All was well and there wasn't a thing to worry about.

Loki hissed and clenched a fist as his right hand burned. He dug his nails into the skin until it subsided and drew a shaky breath.

"Ah yes," he muttered. "I forgot."

"Forgot what, brother?"

Loki glanced in Thor's direction. "Forgot to remind you that you're an imbecile today. I'm obliged to do so once every twenty-four hours."

As expected, Thor's laughter shook the windows. His entourage laughed with him, save for Sif who looked at Loki like he was a particularly vile bit of vermin. Loki grinned innocently. "Your hair is lovely tonight," he mouthed.

"All right, men, let's not drink too much," Thor announced. He'd only had three pints of mead in the last two hours. That had to be a record. "Don't forget, our Vanar friends will be throwing us a banquet to celebrate our triumphant return home. It wouldn't do to sleep in and miss the festivities."

"Better to leave drunk than arrive drunk!" Fandral shouted. He downed his entire tankard anyway and threw it against the wall. Another was immediately brought to him.

"Ah, but the trickster has had enough for all of us, hasn't he?" This voice, Loki didn't know. It came from a man by the window. Large nosed, red-cheeked, and fresh-faced, he grinned with impossibly white teeth as his compatriots chortled. It took Loki all of a second to determine they were as worthy of attention as a single dust mite. "What's this? Nothing to say? You've been by yourself all night, trickster. Won't you share a pint with me?"

"For your own sake, I must decline," said Loki.

The man guffawed. It was a particularly unpleasant sound. If he had a woman waiting for him at home, Loki pitied her. "It looks like the dreaded god of Mischief is frightened of little old me!"

"Now now, Gjurd, let's not make a scene," said Thor.

"I speak only in jest, my prince," said Gjurd, who failed to realize in his hasty attempts at respectability that Loki was also royalty. "However, if I were to formally challenge the trickster to a drinking contest, he would surely be brave enough to accept."

His group of friends cheered him on, but they were alone. Everyone else cast apprehensive eyes upon Loki, who gestured at the bar wench to bring out a fresh tray. He strolled around the tables as one of Gjurd's friends vacated his seat. "Very well. Whoever's feet leave the ground first is the loser."

Gjurd grinned. "Don't think I'll go easy on you because you're a prince."

"Mm-hm…" Loki said, ignoring Thor's concerned stare as the first round of drinks arrived.

He left the bar an hour later as healers arrived to carry Gjurd to the infirmary. Loki finished his last drink, the taste just bitter enough to dull his senses for several seconds. Gjurd's friends scurried after the stretcher, avoiding eye contact with Loki.

"I admire your restraint, brother," Thor said. "This one might actually survive."

"Occasionally, I can be merciful," Loki said airily.

He exited the tavern and walked through. The night was young and he could use some fresh air.

* * *

The party began first thing the next morning. One would think they'd wait until all the hangovers had subsided, but of course, if Thor was awake, everyone was awake.

It was a perfect storm of gaiety, terrible music, and enough alcohol to fill a dozen oceans. Loki declined to participate in any drinking games, and after last night's display, most of the less seasoned warriors were relieved. Breakfast was served, followed by a mid-morning snack, followed by lunch. Hours passed quicker than Loki expected, but still far too slowly. When the sun had reached its highest point, Thor began a rousing game of 'try and take Mjolnir from me.'

"Whoever can have it off me wins a prize," Thor said. He never specified what that prize was because none of these fools had a prayer of wielding the legendary hammer. Even if it wasn't tied irrevocably to Thor, a common insect would be worthy before any of these buffoons.

To be fair, most of them knew that. It wasn't about becoming the next God of Thunder. It was the thrill, and the chance to fight in single combat with the Mighty Thor himself and test their mettle against an unbeatable opponent. And it was the mead.

Mostly the mead.

Loki, who had nothing to prove (today), was content to watch the festivities from a distance. He found an empty table under the shade of an ancient tree and withdrew a shrunken book from his pocket. After restoring it to its' proper size, he flipped to the marked page and settled in to enjoy a few peaceful moments of silent reading.

Two men flew over his head, landing in the mud as their brothers in arms cheered them on. Loki's nostrils flared and he cast a muting spell around his ears to drown them out. It worked well for a short time, and then his carefully selected private spot was invaded. A statuesque Vanir woman dressed in all her finery sat down beside him. With her was a small, soft-faced man in tailormade silver armor which made his head look too small for his body.

"All alone again, are we?" The woman's hazel eyes sparkled. "You are quite an enigma, Odinson. I never know what's happening in that brain of yours."

"Be grateful, Ylva. Traversing my innermost thoughts is a torment I would wish upon no man."

Ylva chortled in such a way that Loki wondered where Thor had gotten off to. "You truly are a card, Silvertongue."

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me? I'm a _card?_"

"Midgardian colloquialism," Ylva explained. "I've learned so many since John and I started taking our summers in England. It's a beautiful country. Have you traveled to Midgard recently?"

"I can't say that I have." Loki glanced at John, trapped in his wife's arms and looking perfectly content despite the occasional wheezing cough.

"It's changed a lot since I was a boy," John said. He beard was peppered with grays, had been for the last three hundred years. "We were there just last year for the birth of my brother's great-great-great... I've honestly lost count, grandson."

Ylva hugged him tighter, the ribbon-like tattoos on their arms shifting from gray to radiant silver. A common reaction when soulmates touched, or so Loki had been told.

They were a fascinating phenomenon, soulmarks. An image or a phrase burned into the skin which dictated who your perfect match would be. Some people had them at birth, some only received them later in life. Each race had a different version, though all defied explanation. Loki was not the type to accept 'it's a mystery' for an answer, but beyond a passing fancy in his youth, he'd never cared to delve deep into soulmate theory. Asgardians didn't have

marks of any kind, not even crossing over into other realms, so it never mattered to him.

If Hogun's cousin wanted to mate with a Midgardian all because he shared the same birthmark as her, it wasn't his place to object. Interrupt the ceremony with a few snakes in the wine, yes, but never object.

"Oh, and did you hear the good news?" Ylva asked.

Nothing had been drunkenly shouted from the hilltops in the last several days as far as he knew, so no, he hadn't.

"You'll remember Ylva's sister, Grete, of course," said John excitedly, "well, last month a soulmark appeared on her arm. And it's Midgardian!"

"Ah… congratulations."

"A tremendous occurrence," Ylva gushed, "though not as out of the ordinary as one might think. Midgardian marks are often dominant traits. Which makes John and I a bit of an anomaly."

"No, my love, it makes us special," said John, kissing Ylva's lips.

It quickly turned into a passionate embrace and Loki stared up at the sun before his breakfast re-appeared all over the grass.

At some point, they ceased devouring each other's faces, just as Loki thought he had an opening to excuse himself. He was already half off the chair and most likely looked like a fool frozen in that pose.

"I do feel sorry for her in a way. When the mark first appeared, she was certain she'd been attacked by some invisible force."

"And here I thought soulmarks were a wholly positive occurrence," Loki remarked as he lowered himself back down.

"Of course they are," said Ylva, "but having words etched into your skin is never painless. The poor girl thought she was being stabbed."

Loki nodded, then froze. "Stabbed, you say?"

"Oh yes, you should read up on soulmarks if you have the time. It's fascinating stuff," said John. "Did you know when a person soulmate is injured or near death, the mark will burn?"

"I see," Loki mumbled. He balled his fists. "That's… very interesting."

* * *

It was ridiculous. Completely absurd.

The idea that Loki, God of Mischief, Asgardian prince second in line for the throne, unparalleled master sorcerer trained by Frigga herself, could have not one but two Midgardian soulmates was utterly laughable. Inconceivable! Anyone who dared imply such a thing, even as a joke, ran the risk of being dropped on a barren rock several galaxies away, depending on Loki's mood.

And yet here he was in his corner of the library, pouring over the most extensive guide to soulmates he could find.

_'It is estimated that between sixty to seventy percent of all Midgardians will obtain a soulmark at some point in their life. Contrary to popular belief, marks are present on the body from birth. However, they are only visible if the soulmate is already living. If a child's mark appears when they are two years old, they will be two years older than their soulmate. Marks can appear anywhere on the body, though the arms, chest, back, and stomach are the most common areas. While it is not impossible to have more than one mark, it is exceptionally rare. Only three percent of all marked Midgardians have two or more marks. When meeting one's soulmate-'_

Loki groaned and flipped to the next chapter. This was not nearly as helpful as he'd hoped. He checked his palms, as he had fruitlessly so many times since his talk with Ylva and John. They were red from rubbing and bare. He put his hands together as the pages turned to the final chapter.

"Spells and potions related to soulmarks," he read aloud. It was worth a try.

He was instantly rewarded.

The spell to reveal a soulmark's location was almost infuriatingly easy. Two lines in the ancient language and his hands glowed bright orange. The light encircled his palms as he looked on in awe. A handy spell, though it only did half the work. Digger deeper through the text, he found a potion scribbled into the corner for concealing marks.

_'Use for marks in unseemly places,'_ it read. There was nothing about removing the effects of the spell, but that wasn't necessary. Counterspells were child's play and all the ultra-rare ingredients the book warned would be needed for this highly advanced potion had been stored in his closet since Midgard's last dark age.

It took twenty minutes. He was back in his chambers, the book floating at his side. Loki referred to it only once; he had an excellent memory for these things. He poured the completed potion into a small basin, just wide enough to fit both hands at once. In its proper form, this potion would hide the mark behind a flesh-colored coat. Reversing it, he hoped, would only remove the magic, and not peel the skin away from his bones.

His hands shook as he lowered them into the frothy liquid. Part of him still believed this was all a load of rubbish. Nothing in the book said anything about an Aesir gaining a mark. Surely it was impossible, and this whole thing was nothing more than an extended waking dream he had yet to awaken from.

Tingling built in his palms and spread to his wrists. It didn't hurt or even tickle, but the unnatural warmth made his stomach flip. He released a lungful of air and withdrew his hands as the sensation faded. He held them to the light. He swallowed.

There they were.

Fine black lettering, even strokes, almost like ink. He rubbed them, but they didn't smudge. The handwriting differed; firm and masculine on his right hand, messy with infinite loops on his left. They were in English, one of Midgard's primary languages. Allspeak extended to the written word, but they would've been perfectly clear to him regardless.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "that settles that."

Next step: find their identities.

His greatest concern was the mark on his right hand. It had been there for decades before the second mark showed up. Checking his long-forgotten notes on Midgardian culture (as a boy he went through a brief anthropology phase), he found that the average human lifespan was roughly seventy years. It had been well over ninety years since his first soulmark sliced its way into existence. After that, it had taken almost sixty years for the second to appear. A sixty year age difference separated his two soulmates. It was all paltry to Loki, just past his thousandth year, but to a woman (he presumed) who reached adulthood at eighteen, it could be troubling.

_'There are ways around it,'_ he reminded himself. With the right spell and one of Idunn's golden apples, he could easily grant his soulmate a second youth.

Turning to a new page, he found the spell to reveal his soulmates' identities. It came with a warning about the benefits of waiting, how seeking one's destined love through magic was to some a bad omen. Superstitious drivel Loki didn't bother reading more than a sentence of.

He started with his left hand, the more recent mark. The right twinged, almost accusingly. He was stalling. He didn't want to know what kind of secrets were hidden behind those words.

Loki closed his eyes as per the instructions and recited the incantation. It was a long one, but he was hyper-focused. In the darkness behind his eyelids, a box-shaped window came into being.

Through a rip in spacetime, he saw a woman, small and slight. Goggles adorned her head and her hair hung loosely over her shoulders. She was bent over a desk, writing in an old notebook. Her face was wrought with concentration; Thor could unleash Mjolnir right next to her and Loki doubted she'd look up. He saw flashes of her daily life. Tinkering with primitive electronics, writing equations on a whiteboard, ranting to a curly-haired woman whose eyes were glued to a handheld device.

Loki took hold of the magic swirling around him. It bent to his will, pulling from the ether a swath of relevant information. She was an astrophysicist working to advance Midgard's understanding of interdimensional travel. An Einstein-Rosen bridge, she called it, but she meant the Bifrost. Her work had taken her to a desolate wasteland where few dared to roam. Many in her field thought her a fool. Loki read her notes over her shoulder and knew how wrong they were.

She wasn't quite there yet. Her grip on Bifrost technology was understandably lacking, but for a Midgardian with limited access to the larger universe, she was brilliant. Brilliant and beautiful. Not ethereal like the Aesir ladies who made men's hearts burst with a glance. Her beauty came from the smudge of grease on her left cheek, the callouses on her hands and the cracks in her fingernails from long hours of strenuous work. It came from her smile when she found the solution to a difficult problem. From the sparkle in her eye as she came one step closer to proving herself right and the buffoons who dared to doubt her wrong.

She had a lovely body as well. He'd enjoy seeing it sans clothing one day.

"Jane Foster," he muttered as her name entered his mind. A bit plain, but it suited her.

He spent some time lost in visions of her life. It revolved almost entirely around her work, though he did find a few instances of her putting the telescope down and going out for drinks with her assistant. Darcy, her name was. She was a student of politics who somehow found herself serving a scientist. Strange, but not important enough to dwell on. Occasionally, they were joined by an older man, a friend of Jane's family dating back to her childhood. He encouraged her dreams but worried she'd go too far and lose what little credibility she had. At this very moment, Jane was speaking to him over her computer, arguing about her latest theory. Loki listened in for a moment, then drew back. He opened his eyes, returning to his room and his own reality. There would be time to visit Jane Foster later. His right hand would not stop itching.

He read the mark again. It was shorter than Jane's, a command. Their third would most likely be angry or afraid when they first met. Possibly both. For now, he wouldn't worry about it. Worry never achieved anything more than undue stress with no outlet beyond overthinking one's problem or, in Thor's case, smashing everything in sight.

Steeling himself for whatever was to come, Loki dipped his right hand in the basin. A barrage of images hit him at once, draining the air from his lungs.

He saw a man in uniform, expertly wielding a Midgardian firearm. The same man defending a small, skinny blonde from a larger assailant. On a boat with a grim expression, sailing towards an ominous destiny. In the trenches, covered in dirt and dried blood, watching his comrades bleed to death. Strapped to a table, experimented on. Saved by his old friend, no longer the weakling he once was. Marching back into the fray to avenge himself and his fallen men. Falling from a train, reaching futilely for his friend. Dragged away bleeding. Captured. Cut apart. Rebuilt. Broken down. Frozen-

Loki withdrew. He stared at the far wall of his room, more familiar to him than anything else in the nine realms. He wiped his hand on his coat, not caring if he ruined it. He walked out the door. It slammed shut and locked on its own.

Odin was in the throne room, discussing trade with his advisors. Loki marched inside, past the guard tasked with announcing new arrivals and ignoring the scribe who fell on his ass trying to get out of the second prince's path.

"All-Father, I request an audience."

The advisor- they changed all the time and Loki never bothered to remember their names- glanced nervously at Odin, awaiting his judgment.

Odin, always a king before he was a father, appraised Loki with his single, piercing eye. "Speak freely if you must."

"Alone," Loki said. "Right now."

He walked into Odin's study, not waiting for an invitation. Where he anything less than the man's son, he could expect to lose a finger for his impudence. Standing by the window, Loki waited for Odin to bring a premature end to the meeting. His steps had not lost their echo, even as age set in. Loki braced himself. Giants quaked before the wrath of the All-Father, and so did his children.

"All right, you have my attention," Odin said, his tone kind with a hint of warning. "What troubles you?"

Loki held out his hands, palms out. Odin fell silent, his expression darkening.

"I have these," Loki said. "I know I've had them for some time, and yet they've been hidden from my sight."

"What of it?" Odin asked curtly.

"Tell me why."

Odin made a face like he'd been asked to accept a goat as a dinner guest. "There's nothing to tell."

"Isn't there?" Loki took a step, hands out. The once concealed words were now blacker than night. "These are soulmarks, father. Midgardian soulmarks. They have been active for several decades while I remained unaware. I want to know why."

"You've answered your own question." Odin turned away, choosing the role of a stern sovereign over that of a compassionate father. Not that Loki expected any different. "They are Midgardian. Of course, I knew from your infancy that it would be so, but what difference does it make? Humans are not suitable partners for a prince of Asgard. They are too small, too weak, and too foolhardy to comprehend life among the Aesir."

"So you hid them," Loki said. The taste of Odin's arrogance was bitter, worse even than Thor, who at least looked down upon lesser beings with a genuine smile. "You took the choice away from me."

"You would choose a Midgardian?"

"I would choose to have what is rightfully mine." Loki closed his fists, rubbing his marked skin tenderly. "I can't say I'm thrilled, but if this is how it must be, then so be it."

Odin chuckled. If Loki were still a boy, this would be the part where he'd get a chuckle and a pat on the head before being dismissed. As an adult, he wondered if a night in the darkest dungeon didn't await him.

"Loki, you have learned much. You are surely one of the greatest minds our realm has ever seen." It sounded like a compliment but felt like an insult. "How is it then that you are so naive?"

"It is naive to desire that which has been promised to me?"

"And who promised them to you?"

"Fate." His voice cracked. Even as he said it, he felt the All-Father's scorn.

"You have never abided by the mechanisms of fate."

"Things have changed."

"Have they?"

Odin sat, and Loki almost followed suit. It was ingrained from childhood; never stand if the All-Father is seated, unless he is upon his throne. That eye grew dark as Loki remained upright. He swallowed and straightened his posture until his legs ached.

"I have seen them," he said. "One is a scientist. She seeks the stars and I have no doubt she will find her way to Asgard on her own if given the chance. The other is a warrior, and he has been imprisoned by his enemies."

Odin laced his fingers together. "How long?"

"Long enough." Loki shivered, recalling the unbearable cold. The darkness… "They keep him preserved until he is of use. He is under their control."

"A regrettable fate for any soldier," Odin sighed. "Nevertheless, it is not our place to intervene."

"Forgive me, but have we not fought on the Midgardians' behalf before?"

"Thousands of years ago when they were under siege from a mutual enemy. We have no business involving ourselves in their personal conflicts."

"I understand," Loki said, fists tightening, "however, this conflict involves someone I am bound to by soul. I think that makes it personal to me."

"Loki…"

"And while I will not deny your wisdom, the fact that you took such extreme measures to ensure I would never know my soulmates makes me wonder what else you might be hiding."

"Enough." A ripple of magic, so subtle that only a mage of Loki's caliber could feel it, nearly sent him across the room. He kept his feet flat, his own power all that saved him. He had pushed too hard and he knew it, but there was no turning back.

"Father-"

"I _said_," Odin rose to full height, "enough. I will hear no more."

"Then you expect me to ignore it."

"I expect you to know your place. You have responsibilities here. Thor's coronation is fast approaching, and then he will need you at his right hand, to guide him as he guides our people."

"Of course," Loki chuckled as his blood pumped faster. "How can I forget? My sole purpose in life: propping up Thor."

"Being a leader," Odin countered. "He cannot do it without you, and you cannot do it if you are caught in the matters of humans. They are as mayflies. Dead and gone before you can blink. Leave them be and look instead to the people of Asgard. They are the ones who need you."

The curtains drew on their own, revealing the city in all its golden-arched glory. Men, women, and children crowded the streets. This was the busiest time of day when all the shops closed and the overnight taverns lit their lanterns, inviting weary travelers in for a pint. Somewhere in the throngs, Thor was spinning another heroic yarn as foot soldiers and bar wenches alike hung off his every word. Loki would find him draped over a barrel at the end of the evening, at least one half-naked woman at his feet. Business as usual.

Odin's eyes were on his back, ready to remove that prized silvertongue if Loki spoke a single word out of turn. His hands were clasped, his shoulders straight, his face impassive. "Yes, of course. You are a wise and fair ruler, All-Father. I apologize for disturbing you."

Odin didn't speak or move, but the door opened, indicating Loki was free to go. Before he left, he bowed to his king, gritting his teeth and scowling for the fraction of a second his face was hidden. He turned to leave, his palms now flat against his sides.

"I trust this won't be a repeat discussion," Odin said.

Loki slowed. His hands all the way to the wrist burned. "The All-Father's word is law. You have made your decision and I will not object."

He kept walking until he was out of the throne room, away from the court, as alone as he'd ever been.

* * *

Two months passed. Loki was bitter and short with his king for several weeks, failing to answer questions when asked and refusing three separate requests for private meetings. It was easy to pretend to be busy with one as boisterous and easily entertained as Thor to tag along with. Loki went on more hunts in those sixty days than he had in sixty years. Sometimes, they would stay out for weeks at a time, and the fresh air did Loki good. It tamed his anger, made him see things in a new perspective.

"Loki, my friend," Volstagg boomed one morning after a hearty breakfast. "Come fish with me. They look to be biting today."

Fishing was not a sport the rest of their group was adept at, but Loki didn't mind a few hours watching them rise and sink under the water, hearing all about the antics of Volstagg's young children. Leaving with a chest full of fresh catch only sweetened the moment.

With each successful trek, Loki's mood improved. He began smiling at his father again, taking meals with him and mother and discussing the latest news from their neighboring realms. Never once did the word 'soulmate' pass his lips. His marks had been covered once more and it was with a smooth, clean hand that he held Frigga's arm and escorted her through the gardens.

"You seem well, Loki," she said as they stopped to admire the primroses.

"Have I ever not been?"

Frigga smiled knowingly. "I only mean your mood has improved. You laugh easier. There must be a reason why."

"Only that I can spend my days surrounded by such beauty." He conjured up a bouquet of the finest flowers Asgard had to offer. As a boy, he would make intricate arrangements every week for Frigga's sewing room. Perhaps it was time to revive the practice.

At the start of the third month, Odin had to depart on a mission of diplomacy. Normally Loki would accompany him to assist in negotiations, but with Thor's coronation drawing nearer by the day, it would better if he got the experience now rather than later. That was how Odin justified asking Loki to stay behind, not that he needed to.

"I am happy to step aside if it means our allies learn to respect Thor as king of the realm," he said, bowing before his father. This was the first time he'd been in the throne room since their altercation. "On my honor, I will do my duty as a prince of Asgard."

This was enough for Odin to leave the next morning without delay. Thor bid his friends and subjects farewell, saving a special clap on the back for Loki.

"Try not to get into too much mischief while we're gone," he said.

"Without you, why would I bother?"

As the Bifrost carried them away, Loki watched from the safety of his chambers until he was certain they were long gone. Heimdall guarded the key as he had for millennia, and while his king was gone, his all-seeing eye would follow them. He'd have no reason to consider what the second son might be up to.

Loki didn't bother walking. He appeared in the palace's grand infirmary as if breaking through a mirror. An unfortunate young woman bearing a tray took a tumble. The tray levitated out of her hands, preserving the delicate instruments. It floated straight into Eir's grasp as Loki bowed his head to her.

"Pardon the interruption," he said. "I hope I haven't come at a bad time."

"Any time is good enough for you, my illustrious prince," sniffed Eir, who was never afraid to speak her mind to a royal's face. That was what everyone liked about her.

"Eir, do you recall my contributions to your heat resistant solvent during the last conflict with Muspelheim?"

Her attendants put on a commendable show of not paying attention. They went about their duties, shooting glances at their mistress and each other when it wasn't too obvious. Eir ignored them all and pursed her lips. "I do. Many lives were saved thanks to you."

Loki nodded, then his smile vanished into a face made of stone. "Eir, I need to request that favor you owe me."

* * *

Thor and Odin would be gone for five months. That was unlikely to change unless unforeseen circumstances extended their trip. Only a grand scale emergency like the sudden onset of Ragnarok could bring them back early. Even so, Loki worked tirelessly for the next few days with a clock ticking away in his ears.

On a cloudy evening with three of Eir's apprentices standing guard, Loki rested on a stone table, not unlike the one connected to the soul forge. He dressed lightly in a simple green shirt and breeches. No need to be fancy where he was going. He accepted the water jug offered to him and drank deeply as Eir commenced the final preparations.

"Remember what we discussed," she said. "This is our first attempt and the goal is merely to observe the extent of the damage."

"That might take longer than you realize," Loki said, shivering.

"When we proceed to the next phase, caution is key. Removing all foreign elements shouldn't be hard once you know what to look for, but you are treading in dangerous waters. A single misstep could mean the end of him."

"I understand," Loki said, closing his eyes as Eir rested her hand on his forehead.

"Are you ever going to tell me why this man is so important?"

"In time," Loki said bringing his hands together.

_'If nothing else,'_ he thought in the moments before Eir's magic took hold, _'thank you, Odin, for encouraging me.'_

With a few short but powerful words, Loki's hold on the physical world slipped away. His body was pulled as if on a string, deep into the mind of James Barnes.


	2. Bucky

**A/N: Here's part two! Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

There was nothing.

Nothing anywhere in this dark, empty space.

He was on the ground, or what should have been the ground.

It may have been nothing, like everything else.

If he had eyes, he'd be looking straight ahead. If he had a mouth, it would be silent. If he had a body, it was heavy on one side.

He never moved. Not unless he was told to. He knew this from fact, not from memory. From memory, he knew nothing.

He was nothing.

* * *

There was something.

The figure of a man. He knew it was a man, but nothing else. The man was tall, or maybe he was just small. The man was not a handler. He knew this because he still felt the ice. The ice was always around him when he slept. He had to be dreaming.

He'd never dreamed before.

The man stood above him. In front of him. Next to him. He can't figure it out and if he had a head, he'd be gripping it.

"What's your name?"

It was the man's voice. He knew this. He didn't have a voice. Not unless he was told to. No one had told him anything yet. No one ever asked him questions.

He looked at the man. The man didn't move. He didn't move either. Could he move? It was so cold in the ice…

The man frowned and faded away. Maybe he was never really there. Nothing was ever there.

* * *

The man came back. Time had passed, or so he guessed. Time was measured between activations, when he was needed and when he wasn't. If he was needed, they'd take him off the ice. If he wasn't, he'd stay in the ice until he was. He knew this from fact, not from memory.

The man walked through the darkness, taking it in his hands and tearing it apart. He watched the man, unsure how he was doing that, or why. The man had a system. He'd find a spot, summon green light from his fingertips and shoot it at the darkness. The man did it over and over again. Sometimes, the man paused to look at him. There was something odd in his eyes. The man wouldn't speak.

More time passed, but he wasn't needed yet so he couldn't say how much. The green light disappeared and the man walked to him. The man stood in front of him. The man looked down at him.

"What's your name?"

He opened his mouth. So he did have one of those. He didn't have a voice, though. Or maybe he did. Maybe he didn't remember how to use it.

The man sighed. "Not yet I see…"

The man was gone. Disappeared. Now he was alone again. It was colder without the man. Quieter.

It was also lighter.

* * *

The man was not afraid of the dark. He grabbed it with no hesitation and turned it to dust. The light was growing. He could see it now. A tiny rip like the seam of a shirt. It grew longer and wider as the man worked. He watched the man and he watched the light. He realized he had eyes and they could see. He saw the rip grow.

"...how many times do I…"

He gasped. He had lungs now. He could breathe. That voice was in his head. Five words that didn't make sense together, a piece of a larger whole. It sounded like a woman; she was stern, yet loving. He felt warm like someone had arms wrapped around him. He felt safe.

His eyes could form tears. He was crying.

"...how many times do I…"

Do I what? What had he done? Something about a rip? Did he rip something? Break something?

There were no facts here, so he knew nothing.

The man continued without looking back. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The man didn't see it. The man only saw darkness. The man fought the darkness. He knew that now. That was a fact.

When the man left, he became a memory.

* * *

He knew what he did.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to play stickball in your Sunday clothes? Look at that rip in your shirt."

Yes, that was right. He went out one day before church and played ball with his friends. Then he went home all scuffed up and his mother was furious.

His mother…

He shook as a face came to him. A woman with dark hair and kind eyes. A smile. She hugged him when he cried and sang him to sleep at night. He closed his eyes and thought so hard, it hurt. So much was missing. Lost to the darkness. He clawed through the fog like the man at the darkness. There was a name other than mom. Something everyone else called her. His father called her…

He had a father.

Sturdy, handsome features, blue eyes, large hands. His father held his hand as they went on walks. He taught him how to fish and throw a punch. He sat him down when his sister was born and told him he had responsibilities now as a big brother…

He had a sister.

No, he had several sisters.

He had a whole family.

That was a memory. More importantly, it was a fact.

* * *

"What's your name?"

The man knelt over him. He wanted to stand, but he only raised his head. It was enough. The man had green eyes. Or were they blue? They were nice either way. Beautiful even. He was a beautiful man.

"I…" His voice wasn't hoarse, at least not much. They let him speak to confirm his orders and issue commands to his team while in the field. This was different. He could choose his words.

"Don't struggle," the man said. He wouldn't touch, but he looked like he wanted to.

"I…"

The man shook his head. "What do you remember?"

His mother was Winifred. It came to him a while ago. Her husband was George. George and Winifred. Winifred and George.

When he ripped his shirt playing stickball before church, his father shook his head at him, disappointed. He used to hate disappointing his father, so from then on, he only played on Fridays and Saturdays.

"Well done," the man said like he heard all that. Like it had been spoken out loud. Had it been? "It will keep coming back to you."

"There's more," he said. He was still shaking. He had a body that could shake.

The man nodded. "Much more."

"I have a name."

"You do."

"I don't know…"

The man's hand on his was strong. He liked the man's hands. "You will."

He would.

* * *

He stood up. He had legs.

The man faced him. He was almost eye level with the man. The man was tall, and so was he. He was tall and he was strong. He could feel his body now. One arm wasn't the same as the other, but it was still his arm.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" asked the man.

There were huge gaps in the darkness. Through each one was a name or a face or a place or a word. There was a boxing gym. He was a boxer. There was a shooting range. He was a sniper. There were bodies everywhere. He'd been to war.

He killed people.

"Why do this?" He watched himself pass a test in fourth grade through one of the gaps. "Why help me?"

Light surrounded them. It came from nowhere. Or everywhere. He didn't know. His head hurt. He brought a hand to it. It felt solid but not solid. His feet touched the ground, and yet there was no ground. He tapped his heel and heard nothing. He tapped it again and heard an echo. It didn't fade away as it should have, it got louder. His ears hurt like his head hurt. Like a giant's hand was slowly crushing his skull. He inhaled and exhaled. He had a voice but not a face. No name either.

He inhaled again. He exhaled again. His head hurt.

The man touched his hands. "Don't."

Inhale. Exhale. "Don't what?" Inhale. Exhale.

"Strain yourself." The man kissed his hand. His eyes were blue, then green. No, blue. But in a certain light, they were green. "It will come to you. I promise."

"But why?"

He'd been to war.

He'd stepped over bodies.

He'd killed people.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Because you're mine," said the man. "And I am yours."

Mine.

Yours.

_What?_

He opened his hands. He'd made them fists. He was angry, but not at the man. Not at anything he knew, but at something he should know.

When the man left, his chest felt tight. His eyes prickled. He sat in the corner and stared at the light. He wanted to reach for it, but his arms wouldn't move. He opened and closed his fingers instead.

What did he have now?

A head, ears, eyes, hands, feet, fists.

He looked down. He had legs, arms, a body. He touched his face.

He was real.

This place was real. And it wasn't real. He created it.

This place was him.

* * *

"What's your name?"

The man didn't ask. He did.

He wanted to know.

He was curious.

He was a lot of things.

He was someone.

"Loki," the man said.

That name was familiar. Not like they'd met before, but like he'd heard it somewhere and it stuck with him.

"How did you get here?"

The man smiled. Loki smiled. "Do you know where here is?"

"My mind," he answered. That was a fact and he said it like a fact. He pointed at the spots of light. "Those are my memories."

Loki nodded. "I'm going to give them back to you. That's why I'm here."

"Because you're mine."

"Because you're mine."

He was Loki's.

Loki was his.

It sounded nice. It also sounded incomplete. There was a space between them where they stood. He thought there should be someone there with them.

"There is another," Loki said. "You'll meet her soon."

"When is soon?"

Loki eyed the wispy shadows, clawlike as they spread across the gaps. A disease which left them numb. "There is still work to do."

Loki ripped off a chunk of shadows. Banished it. Another hole opened up.

He'd been a Sergeant in the 107th division, stationed near Italy. After that, he fought on a team. The Howling Commandos. He'd been their ace sniper. He fought alongside his friends…

"Steve…" He rubbed his face. "Who is Steve?"

"Who indeed?" Loki picked apart the darkness surrounding the hole. It grew bigger. He saw more. Dugan and Jones had been in his squad, and then they were prisoners together. Dugan was an asshole. Jones was okay.

"Steve," he said again. It fit on his tongue like well-worn shoes. Shoes… newspaper in shoes. Trying to look taller. He was never tall. "Punk…"

Loki raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Not you," he said. "Steve. He wasn't tall."

"I see," Loki did not sound impressed. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"Yes..." he said slowly. There was another spot above them. A blonde man looked down at him. He was bigger now. How'd he get so big? "Yes. I knew him."

"Where did you meet?"

"School." He didn't have to think about it. It just came out. "Second grade. He picked a fight and I saved him. He picked a lot of fights. Dumb punk he was."

Loki nodded. "I see."

Tendrils whipped around, the straggly remains of an oppressive force. New cracks formed, new holes revealing new details. He was born in Indiana. His family moved when he was a toddler. He grew up in Brooklyn. Loved the Dodgers. Went to every game.

Steve went with him. He used to pick Steve up so he could see over the crowd. Steve hated that.

"Put me down, you jerk!" he'd say.

"Be grateful, dumbass. If it weren't for me you'd get trampled."

Steve's last name was Rogers. Steve Rogers. His best friend. His brother. They did everything together. They went to art class even though he wasn't good at it. Steve was good at it. He could've made a living. He was too sick to do much else.

The war happened. Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. They were in class when they heard. He was trying to draw a pineapple. Or was it a cantaloupe? Some kind of fruit.

He knew he'd be drafted. Enlisted before it could happen. He was the oldest. The only eligible male in the family. His dad had a bad knee. Arthritis. The doctor said to take it easy.

Steve wanted to go, too. Begged him to help. He humored his friend. Trained him for two weeks. He knew it wouldn't matter and it didn't.

4F.

All five times.

Idiot. Stupid fucking punk.

He was strapped to a table when Steve came for him.

"I thought you were dead."

He looked down, but Steve's face wasn't there. He looked up, up, up-

"I thought you were smaller."

Pain.

Pain.

So much.

Ice.

Why?

_'Sergeant Barnes… the procedure… fist of HYDRA… ice…'_

He grabbed a tendril. Ripped it off with a yell. Loki had it from him and gone in a second. His hands burned but the pain was good. Not like the ice. Not like the machine. Not like HYDRA.

"Let me help," he said.

Loki touched his arm. The real one. "Are you sure?"

He took Loki's hand. He was angry, but not at Loki. Never at Loki. At HYDRA. They did this.

They did this.

"Let me help." He spat the words. "It's my mind."

A shadow reared its hideous face. Roared at them. It looked like a three-headed snake. He took it by the neck. Choked it with the arm they forced on him. Loki destroyed it with a wave.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

* * *

They made a good team. He'd find a clump of shadows hiding in the memory of his first kiss. Then he'd squeeze it, wishing it was someone's neck. He'd hold it down for Loki to eliminate. Magic worked wonders, taking the shadows HYDRA spent years painstakingly stitching over his consciousness and wiping them away like nothing.

Every time was like taking his first breath. He watched each shadow disintegrate in his hands. They never made a sound. They had no mouths, no eyes, no felt like air between his fingers. Something so small had once been the means of his undoing. Now they were nothing. Just like he had once been nothing.

He wasn't nothing anymore.

"Steve and I had this vacant lot in our town and we'd go looking for boxes so we could make a wall and keep all the other kids out. Worked really great for a while, and then one day it rained and that was it for our boxes."

"The water destroyed your fortress?" Loki asked, eyebrows up.

"That's what happens when you're a pair of dumb kids and think cardboard will last forever."

"Perhaps you should've used something sturdier."

"We were seven. What more do you want?"

Loki hummed, but he didn't look convinced. It was annoying, but the more he talked to Loki, the more he seemed to just be like that. Kind of smug, kind of elitist. Probably a lot older than he looked. He'd remembered a while ago where he heard the name Loki and he had a few questions saved away for later.

"Tell me again the story about your dog and the home invaders."

They had to actively search for shadows at this point. They'd dart around the corners, finally realizing the danger they were in. Their opponents were quick. In his own mind, it had to be so if he willed it. Not that he needed to. He was already faster than any normal man. He might even be faster than Steve, and Steve was a super soldier.

He was a super soldier, too. And he wasn't alone.

He remembered that failed training session. What a goddamn nightmare. He'd have to deal with that bullshit again, wouldn't he? Hopefully not. Where had they stored him this time? It seemed like every time they deemed him worthy of continued existence, he was someplace new. Ready for a new mission.

(He killed people.)

So who was he now?

Was he the boy who defended Steve from bullies?

Was he the man who stepped up when his father couldn't work anymore to care for the family?

Was he the recruit who blew his commanding officers away with his hand to hand and sharpshooting skills?

Was he the sergeant who led his men into battle grossly unprepared for what was to come?

Was he the hero who fought alongside a living legend, not for glory or fame, but for the scrawny kid who had surpassed him in every way?

Was he the prisoner denied the peace of death and strapped to a table for the second time in his life?

Was he the weapon who ended countless lives without a thought except for the unending chant of 'complete the mission'?

Was he someone worthy of being saved?

"Bucky," he said.

Loki stopped. Stared. "James?"

Yes, but no. He shook his head. "I'm Bucky."

Loki didn't speak. His expression didn't change. His eyes were so deep, older than his face. He had the most perfect face Bucky had ever seen on a man. In the past, he'd chosen not to think things like that. It wasn't right and he liked women more anyway. Only once had he allowed himself to wonder. A man in his and Steve's art class who always wore tailored suits and kept his dark hair slicked back. He had a college degree and loved talking about it. Never said what kind of degree he had, but he did have a degree. It was signed and everything. He had douche written all over his face, but there was just something about him. Bucky used to dream about his hands. They looked strong, yet soft.

So did Loki's. Pure white and uncalloused, Bucky sucked in a breath when they found his shoulders. He could feel Loki's power. This strange man who wasn't a man could crush him if he wanted to.

Loki hugged him.

Bucky forgot how to react and went stiff. His arms stayed flat at his sides. He stared over Loki's shoulder at his fourteen-year-old self putting a box of dog treats on his old mutt's grave. It switched to Steve supporting him as they escaped the prison camp.

"It's time," Loki said. "Close your eyes."

His voice was so soothing, Bucky couldn't not obey. He dropped his head on Loki's shoulder, allowing himself to relax. Two layers of armor separated them. He drew his fingers through Loki's silky black hair, ignoring the tattered, knotted lock of dark brown which had fallen over his face. If Loki tried to return the gesture, Bucky would never survive the embarrassment.

Time and space shifted, air thinning and thickening faster than he could process. They fell a few feet, then stopped, then rose again. He wasn't scared like he should've been. Another version of himself might've punched Loki in the face and demanded off the ride. He never would've trusted someone invading his mind and claiming to help him. HYDRA claimed he was working for the good of humanity. They never said that by 'humanity' they meant themselves.

And yet, he trusted Loki. He let this complete stranger who wasn't even human carry him off through whatever metaphysical realm existed between the mind and the body.

They landed on a hilltop overlooking a miles long forest. Far in the distance was a cityscape, one he didn't recognize. He heard once that people only dreamed about places they'd been to in real life, and he knew he'd never seen a place like this before.

"Where are we?" He looked at the sky, full of more stars than he ever thought possible.

"It's not you," Loki said, which proved Bucky wasn't losing it, but not much else. "We have entered the mind of another. Someone who will become very special to both of us."

He nodded at a shape across the way. It took the form of a woman on her back, watching the stars. Long brown hair framed her face like a halo. It matched her warm brown eyes and her soft pink lips. She dressed like a man, but that might just be the fashion trends for women in the twenty-first century. Bucky didn't mind. Her blue jeans fit her shapely legs like a glove, and the open plaid shirt with a white tank top underneath just seemed to suit her.

He stared for so long, it was a wonder she didn't spot him. He'd seen men get slapped for less, and here he was gawking open-mouthed like a teenager who'd snuck into a peep show.

"She is lovely," Loki said, "is she not?"

Bucky could've smacked him for such a stupid question. "Who is she?"

The woman sat up, stretching her arms and neck. Her head turned. Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn't jump up or scream or react at all. As if their presence in her mind was a common occurrence.

"Her name is Jane." Loki nudged Bucky forward. "We're here because she is ours."

The woman- Jane- walked up to them. She was tiny, barely reaching their necks. Her face was even more beautiful up close.

"Who are you?"

Loki smiled. "You will find out soon enough, but we have come to visit you, my dear."

Something primal in Bucky wanted to shove Loki aside and keep Jane's attention on him. It flared up and died within moments. There was no reason for him to be jealous. Loki was his and he was Loki's. And Jane was theirs.

"Am I dreaming?" She looked at her hands as if making sure they were real.

"In a way," Loki said. "This is happening in your mind, but it is only slightly less real than a physical encounter. My research tells me anything we say in this realm has no effect on our bond. Not until we meet in the waking world will our real first words be spoken."

Jane stared at him, and then at Bucky. She considered them both before her shoulders sagged. "Darcy was right. I do need to get laid."

Loki chuckled, though it was clear in his eyes he didn't know what that meant. Bucky thought about telling him, but it was kind of nice seeing the all-knowing god look so baffled.

Fresh blankets appeared on the grass, spread flat with no creases. Bucky's legs started to ache, or perhaps they always did and he hadn't noticed before. Either way, he'd been standing far too long and those blankets did look comfy. He plopped down and Jane sat with him. Loki, it seemed, was worried about getting grass stains on his fancy armor. He was a long, brooding shadow on the horizon. It was kind of ridiculous, but also kind of mesmerizing.

The sun fell from the sky, having come and gone several times since they arrived. There was no rhyme or reason to time here, but of course, there wasn't. This was a dream. It was Jane's dream. She proved that when she raised her hands to the sky, summoning more stars. More than there existed in this galaxy. She molded them like clay into new constellations. Orion waved at them. Bucky's grandfather took him camping upstate one summer, and he saw the hunter every night, forever chasing that damn mother bear and her cub.

"Everything," Jane murmured.

Bucky's eyes flicked to her. "What?"

She pointed. "There. In the sky."

"I see it."

"No," she said. Finally, she met his gaze. "Up there is everything."

Her enthusiasm got him in the chest and took hold of his heart, but though he was happy to let her teach him all there was to know about the stars, he had to disagree. Everything he needed was right here beside him. Jane on the right, Loki on the left. The stars lit the way. The shadows were gone. If they stayed here forever, he'd be content.

Jane told him all about the sky. Every name and backstory. He asked a few questions; Loki asked fewer. Her presence alone was a boon after so long fighting through the thickets of HYDRA's poison. Bucky didn't know what would be waiting for him when Jane woke up, but there were still so many memories he had to relive. What happened to that school bully who pushed Steve in the mud and stomped on his art project? Or the impulsive infantryman who ran into gunfire, thinking he'd be a hero?

A shrill ringing filled the air as Jane vanished from sight. The hill went with her, leaving him and Loki in a blank void.

"It is morning," Loki grumbled. "Her version of it."

"Will we see her again?"

"In due time." Loki took him in his arms. "You will have the pleasure before I do, but we will all of us find our way to each other."

The return trip was smoother than the initial departure. Bucky wondered if Loki wasn't just messing with him the first time. Much as Bucky owed the man his life and sanity, he did seem the type to play stupid games like that.

His mind was clear and full of visions. There was the bully, now face down in the mud with young Bucky's foot on his head. He'd spend a week in detention for this, but it was worth it. That bully never bothered Steve again. Next, Bucky and Steve made plans to raid the HYDRA base in Czechoslovakia. Then he helped his mother carry the goose out for Christmas dinner.

So many moments he had lost. He told Loki about all of them. It helped him remember the smaller details. He made a fist as though he could physically hold his own mind. No one would take this from him ever again.

Never again.

"The time is coming," Loki said. "I have heard your captors. They will awaken you soon."

Bucky nodded. He knew what Loki wasn't saying. "What about you?"

"I will be with you the whole time, though you won't see me." Loki took his arm. He was oddly cold for a moment, but then warmth pulsed from his fingers into Bucky's blood. "Until we meet again, this will all be a dream to you. You will remember me only in pieces."

"I doubt that." Bucky took his hand and kissed it.

"You are quite the charmer." Loki caressed his cheek, pulling their faces together. It was strange, but at the same time, right. They should've done this with Jane when they had the chance.

"I feel funny," Bucky said. Loki wasn't as solid as he was a moment ago. Nothing was.

Loki cursed. "We have less time than I thought. No matter, they cannot touch you. I have made sure of it. Remember that you are a free man, James Barnes. You are not a weapon, you are a warrior. Show them."

He had seconds and he knew it. Not even seconds. Barely enough time to scrape his lips across Loki's and whisper in his ear. "Mine."

The last thing he heard was a husky growl. "Mine."

And then there was ice.

He burst through like a man drowning, gasping for air to scream. His lung burned before he took a breath. Rough hands dragged him, his toes scraping uselessly against the floor. They didn't give him a moment to think, but of course not. He wasn't a person to them, just a body. Just a tool for them to use.

They threw him in a chair. The chair. Something deep and visceral within him recognized it. He wanted to run but they were too smart. Metal clamps restrained him. Men in lab coats wandered by on the way to their stations. Some of them stopped to greet their co-workers. An assistant refilled the coffee urn. Machinery churned over a discussion of last night's football game. FC Rostov was the favorite this year.

He heard it all as clearly as he heard Steve's voice in his head. "You look pathetic," his eight-year-old self said.

That was the day Bucky asked Patty Morris to be his girlfriend and she rejected him because he was too short (he had his first growth spurt a month later so the joke was on her). He remembered the exact infliction of Steve's voice; his grin when Bucky told him where he could stick it. Cuss words were still forbidden fruit at that age. The two boys ate from the tree with fervor until their teacher caught them and tanned their backsides.

Bucky held onto that memory. There were more just like it.

_'James Barnes,'_ he said to himself. His handler held a red book with a black star on the cover. _'I'm James Barnes. James Barnes. James Barnes.'_

"Желание"

His body tensed. The cold was fading, but that chill which always came with his trigger words would never fade if he lived another hundred years.

"Ржавый"

This was it. Now he would forget and fall into the abyss. He was only a body. Only a weapon.

"Семнадцать"

It was strange, though. The fear of his monstrous other had not left him. In fact, it grew with each word. Anguish swirled in his stomach so fast he thought he'd vomit. When was the last time he ever felt so much?

"Рассвет"

Any second now, the pain would leave him. Everything would leave him. His name, his family, Steve, the strange, calming voice in his head telling him everything would be all right. His hands would tingle and his mind would die, like falling into a deep sleep.

"Печь"

But he wasn't tired. He was wide awake and he could still recite his serial number.

"Девять"

He remembered the breed of his first dog, the color of Rebecca's dress when they went to Aunt Clara's wedding, the ashy stain on the carpet from where his father once dropped a cigar.

"Добросрдечный"

The thought came to him like lightning, but it was too good to be true. They were seven words in with three to go. He should be gone by now. He should be a drooling zombie waiting to be pointed at a target. He should not be having this internal conflict. These words were his chains. They were a part of him.

"возвращение на родину"

Yet, here he was. James Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant in the 107th division and second in command of the Howling Commandos. Eldest son of George and Winifred Barnes. Best friend of Steve Rogers. The best damn sniper the US military had ever seen with an unbeatable record.

And they were just words.

"Один"

They. Were. Just. Words.

"грузовой вагон"

His handler stopped pacing. The man, short and pudgy with a butter face and too much stubble, filled Bucky's vision. "Soldat?"

Bucky relaxed his body. It was easier than he expected. Slipping back into the role of a mindless killing machine took only a steadying of his hands and a glassy stare. He inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. Metal scraping and hushed speech were the only sounds around him, but in his ears, there was screaming.

"готов подчиниться"

The handler nodded, and the restraints came off. Bucky's wrists ached, but he didn't dare rub them. The handler walked away and Bucky knew to follow. Seventy years he'd been doing this. With every other memory he'd miraculously regained came the knowledge of what he should do. Head up, shoulders back, no expression. He was a blank slate for them to write their commands on. No thoughts of his own. No desires.

The perfect machine.

His arm plates shifted. The extra weight barely slowed him down. He felt the bolts in his spine holding it in place. They didn't hurt but were omnipresent. A part of him he'd live with for the rest of his life. The first time he saw it, he tried to strangle a man. Would've succeeded if they hadn't drowned him in sedative. That was a decent memory. He'd hold on to it for a while.

They entered the armory, and a pair of assistants helped him suit up. He was given all manner of weapon as the handler briefed him on the mission. It was another assassination, or maybe it was recon. Bucky heard every sixth word as he took stock of everything he had on him. Three pistols, two knives, one machine gun, one grenade launcher. There was a sniper rifle within arm's reach and a big red button on the left-hand wall. Every room had one just like it because HYDRA was nothing if not prepared.

Or so they thought.

Next, they ran diagnostics on his arm. It was a simple process. The metal was resistant to prolonged exposure to ice. He bent his elbow when told to and balled his hand into a fist. He threw a punch at the air. No glitching or shorting. He was as graceful as if every part of him was flesh and blood.

A man with a tablet typed up notes. He muttered in German congratulatory words to the original mechanics. Most of them would be dead by now, including the man Bucky choked.

"Do you understand the mission?"

The handler stared at him. Bucky stared back. Every ounce of training he had ever received, from HYDRA, from basic, from playing tag after school, went into this moment. He heard a voice pierce his skull. It didn't sound like him, but it came from him.

'I'm here,' it said. 'I'm with you. Make them pay.'

"Soldat." The handler grabbed his cheeks and forced him to look up. "I said do you understand?"

He shoved Bucky's face. For a second, he was demure, submissive. Machines didn't care if they were manhandled. When someone hit a TV for not working, the TV didn't hit back.

For one final second, Bucky was their pet.

Then he smiled.

"Yeah, I know my mission."

As he put a bullet between the man with the tablet's eyes, he buried the image of his handler's horrified face deep in his memory. For the rest of his life he would cherish this moment. As he would the sound of the second assistant's body hitting the floor. Blood gushed from a hole in his neck. He gasped and choked and died slowly. Bucky didn't wait to watch it happen.

The handler staggered back as alarms blared. Of course, the bastards would have cameras in every room. No big deal. He'd just have to make this quick.

Five men in heavy tactical gear charged inside. Bullets flew in all directions. They didn't waste any time and seemed not to care if they hit friend or foe. One man broke off from the group. When Bucky grabbed him and he screamed, he sounded young. That made it hard, but not hard enough. He twisted the man's neck and let him drop.

His comrades kept shooting. Bucky tucked and rolled behind a metal shelf. It was bolted to the ground, but he had yet to find anything strong enough to withstand his arm. A few good pushes brought it crashing down. Two men were crushed and now he had no cover. Strangely enough, they still couldn't hit him. Every bullet close enough to do damage always diverted course at the last second. At least one made it an inch from his chest only to ricochet off the air.

_'They can't touch you,'_ the voice that wasn't his said. _'I won't let them.'_

A shout in Russian. It sounded like, "Surrender."

Bucky frowned and cocked his gun. The alarms were getting louder and more agents were coming.

_'Make them pay,'_ the voice had said.

So he did.

It was hard to say how long it took or how many bodies he left in his wake. Whoever he came across met him gun first, and when he ran out of bullets, knife first. A man with a machete jumped on his head. Bucky pushed him off and left the blade in his stomach. Two guys in masks shot grenades at him. They destroyed a perfectly good bridge, which delayed his escape by forty seconds. He repaid them with fist-shaped holes in their necks.

He knew everything he had done as the Winter Soldier. If there was any downside to freedom, it was that. He knew all the ways he could end a human life, had made use of over half of them in the last few minutes. At no point did he scream like he wanted to. He didn't curse their wretched existence. He didn't make a sound as the life ebbed away from their undeserving bodies one by one. This monster was the last thing so many innocent people had ever seen. Now it was the last thing HYDRA would see.

The foundation shook as he pressed his fifth red button. He'd only needed one to activate self-destruct, but better safe than sorry. At the end of the line, he found a familiar face in the main office, desperately dialing on an ancient phone and swearing as he got the numbers wrong. Bucky shot it out of his hands. The handler howled with rage and fired twice at him. Bucky stopped the bullets with his metal hand and punched the man to the floor.

The handler fought to stand, but Bucky was faster. He grabbed his head and squeezed.

"Tell me something," he rasped as the handler's skull cracked. "Do you like this?"

The handler gasped and whimpered. He couldn't speak. Blood vessels in his eyes popped, turning them bright red.

"When someone fucks with your head. _Do you like it? DO YOU?"_

The handler's head popped. Blood and brain matter hit the wall and ran down Bucky's chest. The body slumped over, twitching and already turning grey. Bucky stared down at it before pushing it aside with his foot. He had five minutes before the whole bunker went up in flames and not much time to get what he needed.

Ripping out the drawers, he found the cash box and stuffed it in a knapsack someone had left by the door. He threw it over his shoulders and searched for anything else he might need. A row of keys nailed to the wall was labeled either van or snowmobile. Maybe old Schmidt's secret club wasn't as secure as he thought.

Monitors on the wall showed only chaos, as the few agents who survived his assault bled from various wounds and tried in vain to drag themselves across the floor. None of them were getting out of this, so Bucky left them to their fate. On the top left screen was the basement lab, where five cryo-pods sat untouched for over twenty years. Bucky's eyes lingered on them, fast asleep and oblivious to their fate. Another minute passed, but he couldn't look away.

_'You can't help them,'_ said the voice. _'They made their choice. There is no time to waste. Go now.'_

He hoped it was true.

Two minutes later, a snowmobile burst out of the holding deck as the ceiling collapsed and the entire shelf of ice crumbled in. Bucky drove five miles in under ten minutes without having to open up the throttle. Inside the cockpit, he had a full heating system and a GPS. The nearest town was thirty minutes away. Half an hour was all that ever separated him from civilization and Hell.

He kept driving, as the billowing smoke clouds grew smaller out the rearview mirror. Eventually, they disappeared. Sometime later, the snowmobile came to a halt in the middle of a large embankment. It's no different from any other spot in this sprawling white landscape. Far off, he saw lights; at least twenty dotting the horizon. The GPS told him he was less than a mile from civilization.

From freedom.

Bucky's hands tightened, including the metal one. It was self-repairing and no damage remained from his rampage. The plates shifted and slid against each other, the resulting screech was high pitched and ugly. Bucky stared at his stubbled face in the rearview mirror, framed by wild hair and not a day older than the last time he marched into battle at Steve's right hand.

He screamed. He had no idea how long he'd been holding it in, but he tore his throat apart and slammed his fists on the dashboard until it cracked. When he couldn't scream anymore, he cried, uncontrollable sobs pulsing through his body. When he couldn't cry anymore, he slept. Three hours had passed before he awoke, aching everywhere and freezing even though the snowmobile had maintained a steady internal temperature.

He stopped once more at a frozen lake. Punching a hole in the two feet thick ice, he disposed of all but one gun and one knife. They sank into the rocks below, out of sight but never out of mind.

The feeling of being watched never left him. It was there when he handed the elderly proprietor of the town's only inn a wad of bills. When he was wolfing down three bowls of borscht in front of a fireplace, he thought someone was in the seat next to him. When he was in the bathroom, throwing it back up, he could've sworn a pair of hands were holding his hair back.

He didn't sleep. The hard leather seat in the snowmobile was somehow comfier than a mattress. He tossed and turned until sunrise, all the while kept warm by a single thin blanket and the ever-present sensation of invisible heat draped over him.

The sky was calm the next morning. Perfect weather for a train ride. The proprietor, who freely acknowledged her poor eyesight while counting out his payment, brought him a fresh set of clothes with his breakfast tray. "These were my late husband's from the war, but they should fit you."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Bucky said, laying out a pair of tactical pants and a thick gray sweater.

"Better than the shirt you have now if you don't mind me saying." She gestured at his silver arm. "The sleeves match on this one."

It took him an extra twenty minutes to leave after opening the door getting pummeled by a pile of snow. Bucky dug the woman out, accepting only a small lunch box as payment. He fought through three feet of snow to reach the train station and bought a one-way ticket to Moscow. Estimated time of arrival? Eighteen hours.

He spent the time in his cabin, the smallest one they had. He didn't cry again. His eyes were dry even as he finally got himself to sleep and dreamed of cold hands holding him down as electrical current surged through his bones.

When he wasn't tossing and turning or sneaking rolls out of the dinner cart, he curled up by the window and stared at his hands. The metal was smooth and free of blemish, gleaming the light. He traced letters over his palm, mouthing along as he worked. They were one of the last things to come back to him, but now that he remembered, the words would never leave him again.

His soulmark had been with him since he was born. Long, thick letters written in an elegant font like something out of Medieval Europe. Fairly atypical for modern times, but not cause for alarm. Bucky started noticing girls while his friends still thought they had cooties, but he'd joked to his family more than once how masculine the handwriting was.

(He only ever told Steve that he wouldn't mind if it were true.)

HYDRA took the words away from him.

Okay, so the fall did that, but it never would've happened if that armored fuck hadn't shot him through the window.

The second mark came later.

Unlike the first one, these words were small and messy, and most assuredly female. He didn't know how long they'd been there. At least a few decades. One day they pulled him out of cryo and there it was, clear as day. No one knew what to do about it. Ideas were thrown out while he sat motionless on an operating table. He didn't know what 'solution' they came to, he just prayed he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

If he ever found either of his soulmates, he didn't know what he'd do.

_'Run,'_ he told himself with a hollow chuckle. _'They'll be safer that way.'_

_'Don't be so sure,'_ said the voice in his head.

He wanted so much to believe it.

* * *

At the airport, Bucky counted his remaining cash. He had more than enough to buy a ticket to any country he wanted. What he lacked was any sort of proper identification. It made for an uncomfortable flight hidden with the baggage, but he'd had worse. So much worse.

From London, he flew to New York. From New York to Albuquerque. There was no rhyme or reason to what flights he chose, or so he told himself. HYDRA had no interest whatsoever in the American Southwest, so it was a safe bet.

_'Almost there,'_ he heard as he boarded a bus bound for Fort Sumner.

They stopped at a convenience store in the middle of the desert halfway through the trip. It was a tiny village surrounded by other tiny villages. Some of them had welcome signs with names he couldn't read. Others marked their city limits with old cow skulls and oddly shaped rocks. They all blended together after hours of watching them fly by.

"So what else is out here?" he asked as the clerk rang up his half dozen Hershey bars and cool ranch Doritos.

The man looked like no customer had ever spoken to him, let alone asked about the sights. "What else? What else like what?"

Bucky shrugged. He'd switched to a pair of jeans, a heavy jacket, and a baseball cap. Not the best choice for ninety-degree weather, but it kept eyes off him. "I don't know. Other towns, landmarks, anything interesting?"

"Only if you're one of them alien conspirators. Then you want to go down to Roswell and look for symbols in the sand." The clerk laughed at his own joke. "Otherwise, we got Wolfpine up north, Puente Antiguo to the east… oh, and down by Montelva they have this old tree with a crack in the bark that looks like Florida-"

"Excuse me. Sorry, but could you tell me which way Puente Antiguo is again?"

_'There.'_ The voice screamed like a dozen bells going off at once. _'Go there. That's the place.'_

"'Bout five miles east," said the clerk. "Whole lot of nothing, but if you really want to go, I hope that bus o' yours'll take you. Otherwise, you're walking."

Bucky threw the man a twenty and left with a happily swinging plastic bag. Talking to the driver, he learned he bus would indeed pass Puente Antiguo, but it wasn't a scheduled stop. A hundred dollar bill took care of that. Fifteen minutes later, the bus pulled away, leaving him on a main street that looked more like a back alley in Brooklyn.

He passed a small diner, the woman inside serving pancakes to a family of four. Bucky's stomach rumbled. He took out a Hershey bar and nibbled it as he explored the shops lining the street. There was a small bookstore, a bar, and a pet shop. A video store on the corner sported a blinking New Releases sign, but there were only VHS tapes in the window display.

"Outdated," he muttered, then smiled to himself.

He thought about getting a beer, maybe seeing if alcohol had any effect on him anymore. A group of teenage boys were loitering outside the pet shop smoking cigarettes. Bucky spared them a glance and moved on. With any luck, they'd ignore him right back.

"Hey, buddy!"

Bucky kept walking like he didn't hear them.

"Hey!" One of the boys rushed into his path. "Got a light?"

Bucky shook his head.

"Got a drink?"

"I don't have anything."

"Where you going?"

"I'm just walking."

"Walking where?"

Bucky shrugged.

The biggest of the group, who only just reached his eyes, got into his face. "Never seen you before, stranger. Where you from?"

"Around." Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. "Just passing through. Do you mind-"

"I don't know." The other boys snickered as the big one grinned with crooked teeth. "Do I mind?"

It would not come to blows. He told himself that as he tried to sidestep the group, only to find himself surrounded on all sides. Exactly what they hoped to get from him, when he'd gone the extra mile to look no better than a hobo, he couldn't say.

The few people walking the streets steered clear of the confrontation. Bucky didn't blame them. Most were older or had children. Only one woman, petite and carrying a box full of rusty car parts, stopped to look.

"Hey Ricky," she shouted. "Are you guys trying to get booze money off people again?"

"No," the boy, Ricky, mumbled.

"Hope I don't have to call your mom."

"No Doc, we were just talking to the new guy. That's all."

The gang slunk off into the shadows, leaving Bucky and the woman alone in the center of the street. She checked her box, which was more than half her size and clearly too heavy for her. Bucky wanted to offer to carry it, but he couldn't get the words out. He just stared at her face, her brown eyes and soft features. They reminded him of the sky.

"Don't worry about them," she said, "they're all bark and no bite. Can I help you find anything?"

Bucky could pinpoint the moment the world fell away, and it was right then. He didn't hear the bar patrons shouting at the TV, or the squawking of birds in the pet shop, or the single truck chugging down the road, driven by an old man who peered at them through a pair of sunglasses. He didn't see if anyone else was watching. If they were, he didn't care. The woman, whose name he shouldn't know, but felt like he did, ceased smiling as he gaped at her.

"Um… are you okay?"

Bucky rubbed his flesh hand. Her words tingled like electricity.

The woman shrugged. "All right then."

She was leaving.

Bucky grabbed her arm. He knew what a stupid move it was, but not until after he'd done it. His jaw hung, his brain shut down. The woman went still and stared at him, confused, almost fearful.

She was afraid of him.

_'Speak to her,'_ the voice said. _'She's yours.'_

He could hear his heart again. It was all the way in his skull.

"I've been looking for you," he said, his voice strangled and high-pitched, but still very much his. "Everywhere…"

She started to answer, but as his words registered, her voice died. "Wha..."

He let go when he was sure she wouldn't drop the box on her foot. Removing his glove, he raised his hand for her to read. Her left hand clenched, bending the cardboard. She couldn't show him right now, but he didn't need to see it.

Slowly, her smile returned.

And Bucky knew he wouldn't run.


	3. Jane

**A/N: So this has been a long time in the making. Jane had a lot to say, I guess. This thing just kept getting bigger.**

**I hope it's at least worth the wait. Two more chapters for this particular story. After that... well, we'll see. ;)**

* * *

Jane slept whenever she felt like it. Sometimes at night like a normal person, sometimes right after lunch. Wherever she had time to relax, she'd input new data from her weather machines into her computer, answer important emails, and update her hardware and software as needed. When that was done, she'd dive for the couch and take a well-deserved thirty-minute nap.

It wasn't ideal for most people, but Jane had never been most people. No point in changing now.

The first dream happened the day Darcy arrived. Her new intern knew as much about astrophysics as Jane knew about concert piano. Which was to say nothing at all, except that it was a job that existed. Trying to bring her up to speed on the most basic laws of motion and gravitation took more out of Jane than it had any right to. She had all new respect for Erik, who every year dealt with classrooms full of slackers seeking not the answers to the universe, but to fulfill a degree requirement.

By the time she had dismissed Darcy to go out and get a better feel for the town (all three blocks of it), she was ready to do something absolutely unheard of for her. With only three hours until midnight, Jane set her programs to auto and retreated to her RV for a good night's sleep.

At some point after sliding off her shoes and dropping down on the rickety cot substituting for a bed, she was back in her lab working on data. A man she'd never seen before was on the couch. Jane saw him in the reflection of her screen and rolled her eyes when he put his feet up on the coffee table. That was entirely unsanitary.

She dove deep into her work. None of the data made sense. In fact, she could barely read it at all. The man got up and examined one of her weather machines. He didn't touch it, which was good. If he broke anything, blood would spill.

"What are you searching for?"

He sounded echo-y like he wasn't really there but just a figment of her imagination.

"The universe," she said. It was the simplest answer she could give without dipping into quantum theory.

"What will you do when you find it?"

She liked that he said 'when', not 'if'. "Study. Learn whatever I can and share it."

"You wouldn't want to keep the knowledge for yourself?"

"Maybe," she admitted as she never would in the real world, "but I'm a scientist, and we don't work for ourselves. We work for the world."

The man seemed to consider her words. Jane returned to typing, her fingers racing across the keyboard like a fleshy blur until she couldn't see them anymore. She awoke in her trailer, back aching from that curved metal piece sticking out of the mattress frame. No amount of foam in the world could protect her from shoddy craftsmanship.

Her day was standard for a scientist without a proper schedule. She ate coffee for breakfast, organized data for three hours, went to Izzy's for a sandwich at noon, did some repairs on one of her weather balloons until five, took a walk to clear her head while watching the sunset, threw a TV dinner into the microwave, and ate while watching Teen Wolf with Darcy. This was their 'girl bonding time' which Darcy insisted was necessary for the success of Jane's research.

Jane was pretty sure it was because Darcy wanted to stare at shirtless werewolf guys, but whatever. Taking breaks could be good for her. It improved her focus when she got back to work and almost completely stopped the tension headaches from prolonged computer use. For that alone, she could withstand some sappy teenage drama. Maybe even enjoy it a little.

"I'm still not sure if I like Derek or Lydia better for Stiles." Darcy mused as the show went to commercial. "Because neither of them is really good enough for Stiles. No one is good enough for Stiles. He's on a whole other level."

"Mm-hm." Jane wiped the ranch off her fingers and rubbed her hands together. Her two marks were warm today. In the old days, people believed it meant your soulmate was thinking of you.

Of course, that was just an old wife's tale, but Jane could see why some people believed it. For all the myths, there were just as many proven effects that came with bearing a mark.

Jane never liked to think about why her left hand burned all the time.

* * *

She had another dream.

She was in a lab, but not her lab. It looked like the basement she and her friends at Culver converted into a study room during their sophomore year. It used to be their little secret and they made a game of coming up with ridiculous passwords to get in. The longer and harder to pronounce, the better. They were up to floccinaucinihilipilification when the building was condemned and they were forced to start using the library again.

Jane had hated the library. Even the quiet rooms were noisy.

There was no noise in the basement. She was completely alone except for the man from her last dream. She got a better look at him this time. Tall, black hair, weird getup. He looked like he'd gotten lost on his way to the Ren Faire. Jane thought about directing him, but she didn't know where it was either, so she wrote out an equation that was really just word soup and solved it with more nonsense.

"Is this all you do with your time?"

Jane shrugged. "I have hobbies. Haven't had much time for them lately, but I like to read mystery novels and I go to the movies sometimes."

Usually to spot scientific inaccuracies and pretend she was of the right age to enjoy Disney movies, but it was still fun.

"Are you looking for your soulmates?"

Jane looked at her hands. These words were clear as day. She read them over and over again. Her right hand made her laugh. Her left filled her with a curious somberness. "Sometimes. Not really…"

"Why not?"

"I want to find them," she said, answering the question he hadn't asked. "It's not that I don't, but it's hard enough finding one soulmate, let alone two."

"Then you think it's impossible."

"More like improbable." She looked at the screen again, but it wasn't like she had any real work to do. "When I was a kid, I had a neighbor with two marks. She was married to one of her soulmates for sixty years and didn't meet their third until after her husband died. And then she died a month later."

"Is that what you fear?" he asked. "Running out of time?"

Jane closed her hands into fists. "I had both my marks when I was born. That means they're older than me, and who knows how old that really is."

"More than you know," the man stepped into view. He was so tall she had to bend her seat back to look at him. His eyes were blue, but greenish in a certain light. He had a long nose and high cheekbones like a character in one of those historical romances her mother loved to read. Tall, dark, and handsome to the core, though Jane sensed something dangerous behind his smile.

Or maybe 'dangerous' was the wrong word. More like… sly. Mischievous. Yeah, that was better.

"What if I told you the happiness you seek is within reach and that you will find it sooner than you think?"

"Are you talking about completing my research or finding my soulmates?"

"Yes."

Silence followed as they stared at each other. It was enough that Jane thought she should've woken up several times over. Unless time moves differently in the dream world. It could be that this whole conversation had taken place in the time it took her to draw a breath.

"I'd say that sounds great," she replied. "My subconscious is working overtime tonight."

"Hmm…" he glanced at her notes, and though he could only see the first page, she had the weirdest feeling he understood it better than she did.

(But of course, he did. He was a figment of her imagination.)

"Tell me about your theory," he said.

Jane blinked. He had phrased it more like a command than a question, but that wasn't the issue. How to summarize a decade's worth of painstaking research all in the span of one dream which would end the second her alarm went off. She might as well start pinching herself now.

"It's a lot to get through."

He smiled. Jane's heart flipped. "We have time."

He sounded so sure, she had to believe him. And so, she launched into an (only slightly abridged) explanation, drawing figures on a dry erase board which appeared when she needed it while he pulled a fancy leather desk chair out of the air. He folded his long legs and laced his nimble fingers. Jane spoke to every part of him except his eyes. Much of her focus went to his lips. They were somewhat thin, but a nice shade of pink. He parted them slightly like he was waiting for his moment to speak. She paused once or twice to give him a chance, but he never took it.

He had to be a good kisser. The thought came to her at random right before a horrible screech shattered the old lab like a plate glass window.

She was in her trailer with an aching neck and she was pissed. They hadn't even gotten to the Casimir theory.

* * *

"Please tell me we're not having cereal again."

Jane recalled her listing for an intern. There was definitely nothing in there about wanting a child to mother. "We've had cereal every day since you got here."

"Not the first day," Darcy whined from the kitchen table. "First day, you made waffles."

"Yeah, as a treat. If I'd known it would spoil you rotten, I wouldn't have bothered."

Darcy stuck her tongue out at her because without coffee she was the pinnacle of emotional maturity. She still ate her soggy cheerios mostly without complaint and Jane took a moment to go over their schedule for the day. It would be more or less the same as yesterday. Running maintenance on her equipment, inputting new data, going to the scrapyard to look for spare parts, washing the dishes. Just basic fringe scientist stuff.

It was nice not having to deal with emails anymore. One of the benefits to bringing on an intern, and for all her protests, Darcy was a pretty good intern. Her go-getter attitude and reliability almost completely made up for her lack of education in Jane's field. She'd actually gotten on a more regular sleep schedule since Darcy came along, something which would surely make her mom happy.

"By the way, I'm taking my vacation next week."

Jane stared at her. "You have vacation time?"

"Pretty sure," Darcy said. "I know it's somewhere in the papers I signed. I'm not going for no reason. My grandma's birthday is coming up and she's been kind of sick lately. I don't think anything will happen to her, but you never know."

That was understandable. Jane certainly wished she'd had more time with her grandmas, both of whom were gone before she turned ten. She would never disparage Darcy for wanting to make some new memories in case the worst happened.

But wow… this was not good timing at all.

"So you're going where?"

"Florida," Darcy said through a mouth full of cereal. "She has a place near Tampa Bay. Really nice. You should come with."

"I think I'll be okay," said Jane.

"I didn't buy the ticket yet," said Darcy, as if sensing Jane's discomfort. "Wanted to run it by you first."

"Thanks," Jane replied. "As long as you get your work done by Friday, it should be okay."

Darcy pumped a fist. "Awesome! I'll do it by Thursday."

"Just don't half-ass things to finish faster."

"I would _never."_

Thursday rolled around and Darcy had nothing left to do but pack her bags and call all her family members to let them know she was coming. Jane buried herself in readings while Darcy yucked it up with her cousins. Times like this, she wished she hadn't broken her last good pair of earbuds.

"You think this is bad," Darcy quipped as her phone started to die and she had to plug it in, "you should see us at Hanukkah. Your ears'll be ringing for days."

"I believe it." Jane yawned. She rolled her neck back and forth, but her bones remained stiff and her eyes heavy.

"You okay?" Darcy asked.

"Perfect," Jane said, "just tired. I think I need to start going to bed earlier. I keep waking up in the middle of the night and having weird dreams."

"How weird?" Darcy sat on her duffel bag. "Like flying cows and purple trees or five-headed dragons calling you a failure?"

"Just about work. Trying to decipher new data."

"So basically nothing you don't already do during the day," Darcy sighed. "Jane, no offense, but you need to get laid. You sure you don't want to come to Florida?"

"Positive."

"Invite stays open until I leave."

"Thank you, but I'm not a beach person."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Of course, how could I forget. Sands and seas are nothing compared to sands and more sands."

"No they are not," said Jane.

"You still need to get laid."

* * *

That night she went to a hilltop in a forest. It looked like her hometown, but greener and lusher. Some of the trees which were taken down when she was a teenager stood tall, their branches reaching for the heavens. The grass was soft, comfier than her foam mattress. The sky shimmered blue and purple, full of stars she recognized, stars she didn't, stars that shouldn't be visible in this part of the world, stars she could reach out and touch.

She thought about staying here forever. The real world was overrated anyway. Nothing but cheap instant coffee and fair weather 'colleagues she didn't want to talk to. In a place like this, all her worries washed away like drops of water. She no longer feared wasting her life chasing a pipe dream. Everything she ever wanted was right in front of her, and she was all alone to enjoy it.

Except she wasn't. Someone else was there with her, watching her recreate Scorpio in the sky (Antares was just a little bit off). It was that man again, and he had someone with him. This new man was shorter, though not by much. He still towered over Jane's slight form. His eyes, sharp and blue like the first man's, lacked infinite knowledge of the universe but spoke of age beyond his years. It was something Jane never would've noticed during the day when she was so consumed with her research that nothing short of an explosion could grab her attention.

"Who are you?"

The taller man smiled. What was his name? She should've asked him already. A featherlight brush against her skull gave her a single word. _Loki._

Loki? Like the Norse God?

Man, her subconscious was creative. This other guy had to be Apollo.

_'Bucky,'_ said the brush. That worked, too.

"Am I dreaming?" She absolutely was, but it was always good to be sure.

"In a way," Loki said. The rest of his explanation made perfect sense by dream logic. Real-life logic was going to have a field day when she woke up.

Still, there were certain benefits to a pair of gorgeous dream men hanging on to her every word as she described her favorite constellations. What they meant, the stories behind their names, when they were discovered. They listened closely, if differently. Bucky watched her mouth, waiting for her to pause before asking questions. He had a bunch. Good ones, too. If this were a formal lecture, he'd be the star pupil.

Loki, at first glance, was in his own world. He watched the sky, his eyes never moving, and Jane would think he hadn't heard a single word out she said. But looks were deceiving, as her mother and many after school specials had taught her, and where some might see apathy, Jane saw engrossment. It was the little things like his head tilted in her direction and his tight frown when she talked about her funding. All the hoops and hurdles she had to jump through to get even one tenured professor to take her seriously.

"These _scholars_ you speak of are the best your realm has," he said, making a face.

"Some of them, I guess," Jane said. "It's not that they're dumb, they just… they have their own little club and people like me don't get in."

"Then they and their club must be eliminated."

Jane laughed, even though it didn't sound like a joke and he wasn't smiling while contemplating murder. "I'll get back at them by proving myself right."

"Hell yeah, you will," Bucky said, tentatively placing his hand on top of hers.

"Oh yes," Loki agreed. "You'll make them all pay for their malfeasance."

Why did he have to phrase it like that? There had to be some kind of convoluted Freudian analysis of her subconscious to explain it. Like maybe Bucky was the manifestation of her hopeful optimism while Loki was the side of her that wanted to take an ax to a bunch of old farts' desks.

Jane could've pondered it forever, but then there was Ophiuchus, one of the rarest constellations ever recorded, and she had to tell them all about it before her alarm went off and pulled her on a hook back to reality.

* * *

Darcy's plane took off at noon. Jane drove her to the bus station in the next town and saw her intern off with a smile and a wave and a promise to have fresh waffles waiting when she got back.

The ride home was quiet, even with the radio on. Jane tapped her fingers on the wheel as a pop song by the latest teen idol played, but without someone to obnoxiously song along, it just wasn't the same. She parked behind her lab. There had been no spikes in activity since she left, probably because it was a calm, sunny day and not even one in the afternoon. With nothing else to do, Jane went for a walk.

She thought about getting lunch, but she wasn't hungry. She could go to the library, but she hadn't even started the last book she took out. Up the street by 7-11 was the scrapyard. Mr. Collins always had a ton of old car parts and even a few circuit boards that made for good temporary replacements when her equipment was down.

Jane strolled along, noting a sign in the 7-11 window advertising half-off Slurpees. Maybe later she'd grab a blue raspberry.

Mr. Collins had a great selection that day. A few motors, some aluminum wire, even a rigging mast of all things. How something off a boat ended up in the desert, she couldn't say, but one never knew when something completely random could turn out to be useful.

"You need help with that?" Mr. Collins shouted after her in his deep Southern twang as Jane fought with the box obstructing her vision.

"I got it, thanks."

She stumbled around the corner and down the block, taking two steps at a time and then checking that nothing was in her path. Two more steps and check. Two more steps, check. Two more, check.

Maybe she should've driven instead.

A group of neighborhood kids was in the middle of the street surrounding a tall man wearing a jacket and a baseball cap. He kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders down. Jane couldn't see his face, but those boys she knew all too well. Early in her tenure as Puente Antiguo's resident mad scientist, young Ricky had gotten a bunch of his friends together to go egg her windows. One threat to call the cops was all it took to send them running. Not exactly the hardcore gangsters they liked to think they were.

Now they'd graduated to harassing strangers. Jane would be surprised, but… nah, she wasn't surprised.

"Hey, Ricky!" She had to move the box away from her face to not get a mouthful of cardboard. "Are you guys trying to get booze money off people again?"

They tried it with Darcy once, after first expressing admiration for her generous physical attributes (as Darcy much less eloquently explained later). She had instead offered to introduce them to her good friend, Mr. Taser, and that was the end of that.

"No," Ricky sulked, moving away from the man.

His gang scattered as Jane threatened them with parental intervention. Whether or not she still had Mrs. Ricky Mom's number stashed away in her address book didn't matter. They were in the wind and now it was just Jane and the mysterious man.

He was even taller up close, his deflated posture failing to hide his large build. Under his cap was long, disheveled brown hair over tired blue eyes set in a gaunt, but still handsome face. A plastic bag hung from his wrist, full of bright colors and empty calories. Some strange instinct welled up inside Jane. She wanted to drag him back to the lab and fill him with waffles and fruit. A lot of fruit.

"Don't worry about them, they're all bark and no bite," she rambled, and probably should've stopped there but his eyes… "Can I help you find anything?"

For the longest time, all he did was stare. They were frozen in the middle of the street. A few cars drove by, swerving around them and not even bothering to use their horns. For midday in Puente Antiguo, this was business as usual.

"Are you okay?" Jane gave him a few more seconds, but he didn't move. The sensible side of her said it was time to leave thirty seconds ago. Not like she knew who this was beyond stranger she just saved from a mugging. "All right then."

She turned and he grabbed her, a gloved hand wrapping around her skinny forearm. Jane froze and looked at him, surprising even herself with the lack of ice running through her bloodstream. His grip was loose like he'd only meant to tap her on the shoulder. His mouth was open, but all that came out was a raspy hiss. Jane should've been terrified and she knew it, but as always her curiosity ruled over logic.

And maybe, she'd wonder later when she had a moment to think, maybe she just knew.

"I've been looking for you everywhere…"

Her left hand ached, but not like all the other times. The box was ripped at the corner, dry cardboard pressing a sensitive spot on her palm. Jane clenched it tight, her heart working overtime to pump blood to her brain. She'd need all of it to take in the man before her. His scruffy face, his rumpled clothes, his dirty baseball cap without a team logo.

When Jane's parents met, her father was working part-time at a pizza restaurant. The kind with furry mascots who trailed up and down the aisles asking families in silly voices if they were enjoying their meals. John Foster was the elephant. He spoke Johanna Porter's words through a trunk. When he got the head off his face was little more than a shriveled beet with hair, and he was gorgeous. Johanna always said he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her life.

As the man removed his glove to show off Jane's frantic scrawl on his palm, she finally understood what her mother meant.

* * *

The lab was a complete mess. Papers everywhere. Tools strewn around that hadn't been used in days. That broken monitor was still in the corner gathering dust. How long ago did she say she would fix it? Had to be at least a week. She took stock of the chaos, counting every stray screw and empty box as a mark against her. Obviously, she should've known to today would be the day one of her soulmates wandered through her backwater rustbucket of a town and cleaned appropriately.

Jane held the door open for him. The overflowing box of metal parts was like a pile of feathers in his arms. He carried it into the middle of the room, a wide-open space which could do with some furniture. "You can leave it there, thank you."

He grunted. It sounded like, 'you're welcome', but it was hard to say.

"Can I get you anything?" Jane asked, walking into the kitchen. "I have water, coffee, and Gatorade."

Another grunt. It sounded like, 'water.' Jane poured him a glass.

Conversation had been sparse on their walk home. They were halfway to the lab when Jane's brain suddenly restarted and reminded her that introducing herself was a good idea.

"I'm Dr. Jane Foster," she'd said. "You can call me Jane. Just Jane. I always include the Doctor part because a lot of people don't know and just… you know..."

"Bucky," he'd said once she finished rambling.

Now that they were inside, away from prying eyes, she could get a good look at him. He had taken his hat off, revealing a head of matted hair that could do with a wash. His body seemed impossibly large and tiny at the same time, taking up so much space even as he struggled to make himself small. His jacket and gloves stayed on. Such an outfit would've been perfect for the icy temperatures at night, but it was just past noon and ninety-five degrees out.

"I can take your coat if you'd like," she said.

"No, thank you," Bucky said.

"Are you sure? You can't be too comfortable in-"

"No."

He wasn't loud or forceful about it, but there was an edge of caution in his tone which gave her pause.

"Okay..." Jane tapped her foot, a nervous habit that used to only plague her when the school board was re-evaluating her for grant money. "What brings you to Puente Antiguo?"

Bucky stared at her. It should've freaked her out- soulmate or no, he was still a complete stranger- but it wasn't fear that sat in Jane's chest as she looked into those impossibly blue eyes. "What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I mean, I know what you said, I just figured you hadn't really come all the way out here looking for me."

He started to smile, the beginnings of it were there and it made Jane's chest tighten. "I was just passing through. Looking for a place to spend the night."

"I have a nice couch," Jane said, forgetting for a moment that he was already sitting on it. "If you wanted to. I know we only just met but…"

She didn't finish the thought. Bucky didn't answer. This was going great so far.

"You sure that would be okay?" He sounded like he couldn't believe she'd even offer, and that raised some questions Jane was not at all prepared to ask.

"As long as you don't touch anything on those tables or erase my whiteboard," she said, only semi-jokingly. "I'm happy to have you."

There it was, a real smile. Bucky's face went from pale and gloomy to almost rosy. Oily hair and out of control stubble be damned, he took Jane's breath away. "Then I'm happy to stay."

* * *

Jane ordered them pizza for dinner. When she asked Bucky what kind of toppings he liked, he stared at the wall over her shoulder for a minute and shrugged. She went with pepperoni.

The only pizzeria in Puente Antiguo sold by the slice and had special deals on Wednesdays for half-off extra-large pies. That was a lot for two people, but she could always save the leftovers for tomorrow. It came twenty minutes later with twelve slices. Jane finished her second in time for Bucky to polish off the remaining ten.

"I'm sorry," he said, curling up with a pillow in his gloved hands. "I was hungrier than I thought I was…"

"It's okay," Jane said, breaking down the greasy box for the trash. "You've been traveling… though I don't know how much room for breakfast you'll have tomorrow."

He didn't respond.

She set him up with a pillow and a blanket. The latter was covered in a layer of dust. It had been in that closet since before she moved in. Jane beat it out as best she could, and Bucky took it gratefully, not commenting on the bits of caked-on dirt or the fraying edges. He didn't even mind the vomit green color.

Instead of going to her trailer, Jane slept at her desk. Sometimes it was more comfortable than a cot, and sometimes she just didn't want to leave. It was nothing against Bucky, who'd been a model guest up to this point. Her paranoia about her research being tampered with or her equipment breaking went far enough that she wouldn't trust her own mother to set foot past the kitchen. She'd stay this one night and then figure out what to do tomorrow.

Assuming he stayed that long.

Which he had to since they were soulmates and they needed to get to know each other to see if a relationship would work. She wanted that and Bucky clearly did, too.

Right?

(She still had to ask him why her mark always burned.)

Bucky fell right asleep and Jane was carried off into unconsciousness by the low rumble of his snoring. She awoke from a dreamless sleep to the smell of fresh coffee and found him in the kitchen pour fresh grinds into the coffeemaker. "Good morning," he said, mug in hand. "I hope you don't mind."

"No," she said. Better than her telescope. "You're free to help yourself. How about pancakes?"

He was still wearing that coat. Hadn't so much as unzipped it. "Pancakes sound good."

Jane made two for herself and five for Bucky. She had a feeling that it wouldn't be too much for him and indeed, he devoured the whole stack with half a bottle of dollar store maple syrup. They made small talk about the weather, and then it was time for Jane to begin her morning routine. For once, the shiver in her chest was more nervous than eager. She had equipment to clean, a checkbook to balance, and now a scruffy, nomadic soulmate to get properly acquainted with.

There were only so many hours in the day.

"So uh… I have to get some work done, but I'll try and make it quick. You can watch TV if you want."

Her television was a twenty-year-old box complete with a built-in VCR. Darcy pretended to faint the first time she saw it. Bucky just looked at it. He grabbed the remote- he actually found the damn thing in nothing flat- and switched it on.

Jane smiled and got to work. Her promise put her on an accelerated schedule. Instead of quadruple checking her equipment, she only double-checked. The only important emails were from her friends at Culver and those could wait a few hours. Last night was calm with low winds and no rainfall, so her data was easy to pick through. Nothing useful or relevant to her interests. She might as well have just trashed it all.

It was easy to fall into her headspace as she debated with herself. Lounging on her desk chair, hand over the mouse, chewing on her lip as she weighed the pros and cons of the most important decision she'd make this hour. This was Jane in her natural habitat: focused, uncompromising, and fully self-sufficient. If she forgot a meal here and there, it wasn't a big deal. She was naturally petite and there were people in her program way worse than her. At least she remembered to bathe more than once a month.

Thirty minutes later, Jane closed all her folders and pushed out her chair. Her left foot was asleep and she shook it out, restoring the blood flow and alleviating the painful tingling. Someone behind her was talking. Not Bucky, but a man with a thick and unpleasant accent Jane couldn't place. He had the TV on to a pair of overly tanned women in designer clothes with bleach blonde hair. One was ranting about a guy she slept with who hadn't called her back while the other smoked a cigarette and perfected the art of sleeping with her eyes open.

"You... like Jersey Shore?" Jane glanced at Bucky, still in the same place she left him, staring at the screen as though questioning all of reality and his own existence.

"I don't even know what this is," he said as the scene cut to an even more tanned man on the beach, flexing and giving the camera duck lips, "but it's hard to look away… wait, this is New Jersey?"

"I think so," said Jane.

He groaned. "No wonder."

Jane jumped over the couch to sit with him. He switched to a legal thriller she'd never seen before, then to a cartoon she knew from childhood. Next was the weather channel. The forecast predicted sunny skies, then more sun, and then some more sun. Bucky flipped through ten more channels, barely pausing to see what was on, before settling on an episode of I Love Lucy.

"Oh, I love this one," Jane said, pulling her legs up. "This is where Lucy does that TV commercial and gets drunk."

Bucky furrows his brow. "She gets drunk doing a commercial?"

"Just watch. It'll make sense."

As the episode played Jane found herself watching Bucky more than Lucy. He reacted at all the right moments, shaking his head when Ricky caught Lucy in front of the camera, laughing quietly as she grew increasingly disoriented and started flubbing her lines. At times, he seemed to be stifling his enjoyment, lowering his head so she couldn't see him smile and covering his mouth. That same strange protective instinct from yesterday flared up, and she wanted to remind him that it was okay to laugh when something was funny.

Which would be stupid of her because obviously he knew that.

"Do you want to watch another one?" she asked as the credits rolled. "They do hour blocks on this channel."

"If you want to," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. A sound like gears spinning caught her attention. She glanced at her equipment, but everything looked okay from here.

"Then maybe later we can get some lunch and I'll show you around."

"Okay."

The next episode began with Ricky and Lucy once again arguing about Lucy's ill-conceived ambitions for stardom. After that, Gilligan's Island took up another hour. By then, Bucky was laughing uproariously at the unfortunate castaways. Each time, he followed it with a shy look of confusion, like he didn't understand why he was having so much fun just watching TV.

The next show was Green Acres, which Jane had never liked. It was past noon and her stomach was growling. "Up the street is Izzy's diner. She makes great sandwiches and I think today is one dollar quesadillas day. Then there's the bar, they have decent hot wings. And… that's about it as far as eating out."

"Sounds pretty classy," Bucky said.

Jane snorted. "We do try."

They started for the door, but a metallic creaking stopped Jane cold. She turned to look at the lab. All her computers and weather machines were running on autopilot. The hum of machinery remained strong and steady. No glitches in the matrix to be found.

"Something wrong?" Bucky asked.

"No," Jane said, eyeing one spectroscope in particular that had been giving her trouble, "but if you happen to hear anything that sounds like metal on metal, let me know, okay?"

She didn't understand the flash of fear in his eyes, nor his shuddering as he mumbled a barely intelligible promise.

It was the busiest part of the day in Puente Antiguo, which meant Jane counted ten people milling about the streets instead of just five. The more polite ones nodded as she passed, their eyes lingering a second longer on the newcomer. They didn't get many of those out here, but Jane felt Bucky's discomfort at their stares and did her best to distract him.

"Over there is the library. They have an extremely bare-bones collection, but they never charge late fees, so I'll take what I can get. Across the street, we have the video store, and then the pet store, my intern keeps saying I should get a 'mascot' for the lab."

"Like a dog?" Bucky asked.

Jane shuddered. "Definitely not, I can't have a dog running around all that sensitive equipment. Plus, I like cats more."

"Cats are okay," Bucky said. He had his hands in his pockets, which were still gloved. His jacket and cap were on. It was pushing eighty degrees, Jane was sweating just looking at him.

"Are you sure you're comfortable in all that?"

Bucky's shoulders hunched. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I wouldn't pry, I just don't want you to overheat."

He chuckled. Not like before but more… empty. "I think heat is exactly what I need."

The lunch rush was just starting at Izzy's, but Jane managed to snag her favorite table by the largest window. The waitress handed them menus, taking a bit too long to study Bucky's half-hidden face. He buried it in the menu and must've read it over ten times before finally putting it down.

"Do you know what you want?" Jane asked.

"Just a burger," he said.

"With fries?"

"Sure."

"And a shake?"

Bucky's mouth twitched. "I should just let you order for me."

"No, no, I wasn't trying to assume." Jane dropped her menu on top of Bucky's. "Please, get whatever you want. Don't even worry about the price."

Izzy arrived moments later. Jane ordered her usual turkey sandwich while Bucky traded the shake for extra fries. He didn't seem to mind when Jane snuck a few. He caught her every time her hand moved and his eyes sparkled as she pretended to look scared.

"You know," Jane said over an ice cream sundae dessert, "this is kind of like our first date, isn't it?"

He paused chewing, his cheeks bulging with chocolate. "Uh… yeah, I guess so."

Two boys with faces covered in hot sauce ran by screaming, their harried mother on their tail, shouting furiously at them. Meanwhile, three cowboy looking men had just entered, chattering loud enough to make Jane's ears ring. "I'm sorry the locale isn't better."

"I don't mind," said Bucky.

He finished his ice cream just as Izzy returned with their check. "Que les vaya bien," she said, staring distastefully at the mess the boys had left.

Jane reached for her wallet, but before she could grab it, Bucky had a twenty on the table. "Gracias por la comida, Señora. Fue muy rico."

Izzy did a double take, then put her hands on her hips. "¿Ah, piensas que sos encantador?"

"No, Señora, solo queria agradecerle por una cena buena."

She let out a laugh Jane had never heard before, and… was she blushing? "Pues, es muy amable de su parte. Debes volver algun día."

"Lo haremos."

"You speak Spanish?" Jane asked as they left the diner.

Bucky shrugged. "I speak a few languages."

They walked down the street to the 7-11, where it became apparent Bucky was not full even after a double cheeseburger and a bowl of ice cream. He drank two half-off Slurpees in five minutes, sitting on the curb with Jane for ten more as he rode out the brain freeze. They browsed the hardware store and Jane found a pocket knife that would go well with her other ten. Bucky tried to buy it for her, but Jane stopped him.

"You already paid for lunch," she said.

"It's a date," he said. "Where I'm from, the man always pays."

Jane smiled. "I didn't take you for the old-fashioned type."

Bucky said nothing but didn't stop her when she handed the clerk her debit card.

Weekends were a weird time for the library. Sadie the Librarian (as almost everyone in town called her) kept a set schedule Monday through Friday but did whatever she wanted once Saturday rolled around. The door was bolted with an 'Out to Lunch' sign in the window. Lunch for Sadie could last after dinner, so they'd save that trip for another day. It gave them time to stroll through the sand and talk.

"My dad and I used to take his truck out to Lake Placid in July when Venus was in view. It was his favorite planet." Jane lifted her chin, though the stars wouldn't be out for a while. "That was back when we lived in Pennsylvania. Then he got a job at the University of Michigan and that was the first of many moves to come."

"Must've been rough on you," said Bucky.

"For a while," Jane replied. "I was always more interested in books than friends, though my mom her best tried to get me into clubs. I did ballet for two years and all I have to show for it are the scars on my toes."

"I bet you can still pirouette, though."

"Oh, with the best of them." Jane flicked her hair, and he chuckled. She reached for Bucky's hand and almost took it before regaining herself. That was way too much too soon. Or was it? Weren't they already on a date? "So what about you, what's your story?"

His smile vanished. "There's not much to tell."

"There must be something," Jane said. "You didn't come from nowhere."

It shouldn't have been possible for a man his size to look so pitiful. Jane instantly regretted prying. Every time something personal came up, he dodged it, or tried to change the subject. He was extremely obvious about it. She'd always been too curious for her own good, but it appeared now she could add 'oblivious' to the list.

"I'm from Brooklyn," he mumbled before Jane could say anything. "Er- Indiana first, then Brooklyn. I spent most of my time there as a kid. Me and my friends, we did all the usual stuff. Ate corn dogs, went to Dodgers games..."

"Dodgers?" Jane asked. "I thought they left New York ages ago."

_"What?"_ Bucky's eyes bugged out. "I mean… no, that's not- I didn't mean that. Sorry, my… _grandfather_ was a big fan. I meant the… the…"

"Yankees?" Jane supplied.

"Oh _fuck_ no. Just… nevermind. Forget it. Uh, after that I joined the army and I did a few tours. That's it."

He seemed to want to leave it at that, and Jane would've. She really would've. But…

"How long were you in the army?" It came out fast and she cringed at her own voice.

"Long enough," he said. His hands went back into his pockets. "Too long."

"It's just my…" she clenched a fist. All day long her mark had warmed her like a toasty campfire. Every time he was close enough to touch it burned. Not like the other times. There was no deep sense of dread in the pit of her stomach, just an aching, clawing need. To hold him, touch him, know him better. Know him fully.

This must've been that 'post soulmate high' her parents warned her about. Jane never asked how long it took them to give in, but if it was anything like what she was feeling, it didn't surprise her at all that they were married within a month.

Bucky stared at her flexing hand. His handwriting shined with sweat. "I fought some battles. Bad shit happened. I made it out, but… only kind of I guess…"

He turned away from her, and Jane moved back into his line of sight. She reached for his left arm and he turned again. Metal whined and Jane glanced at the man looking under his hood a few feet away. He'd better get his oil changed.

"You can tell me," she said gently, "but only if you want to."

He rolled his shoulders. "It's not a nice story. A lot of things happened..."

"I understand," Jane said as if she really did. "We can talk about something else."

Another almost-smile made his face brighter. Jane longed for the real thing, but she'd take it for now. She rubbed her hands together, causing his eyes to flick down. The words on her right hand were partly covered by her thumb. He took hold of it. The thought of stopping him never crossed Jane's mind. She watched him mouth the words on her palm. He looked younger up close, his laugh lines not nearly so pronounced.

"What does yours say?" she asked.

His left hand, which stayed steady by his side, twitched. Jane didn't have to ask where his other mark was.

"Same thing," he said.

Jane grinned. "Then we have a very well-spoken third, don't we?"

A flash of green entered her mind's eye. She didn't know where it came from, but an echo-y, accented laugh followed. This would not be a good time for the desert heat to make her loopy so she hoped it was just a regular brain fart.

"I'm getting tired," Bucky said, "let's head back. I want to watch more Lucy."

He started for the lab, which was always in sight wherever they went. Jane jogged after him, cursing his long, muscled legs in the same breath she thanked God for them. "I don't think it'll be on again tonight, but I can get my intern's Netflix password. Ever seen Labyrinth?"

"Never heard of it."

"Oh, it's great. Kind of a guilty pleasure of mine, so don't tell anyone."

As they walked home, she gave him a quick rundown of the film. Their hands were joined before she knew it, leather rubbing against her bare skin. Eventually, she'd have to ask about that, maybe when he was a bit more acclimated. They'd already solved one mystery of her life. Now she knew all those brushes of death she felt from him weren't the result of a thrill-seeking lifestyle or one insanely determined serial killer. Not that going to war and getting shot at was any better, but at least now she had an answer.

That her mark had burned since early childhood and he didn't look a day older than her didn't need to be dwelt on.

* * *

Darcy texted Jane the password in the middle of drunken ramblings about a new dance her cousin taught her. Five videos hit Jane's phone as she entered the letters into the text box. She shut it off as the loading screen appeared, followed by the main menu.

"Oh wow, Excess Baggage," she said, clicking through Darcy's watchlist. "That was a weird one."

"Don't know it," Bucky mumbled.

_'Somehow that doesn't surprise me,'_ Jane thought and immediately snuffed it.

Half an hour into the movie, all the ice cream and Slurpees finally caught up with her. She excused herself as Bucky sat closer to the laptop, seemingly enjoying his viewing experience. Jane finished her business and washed her hands, checking her teeth for food and her breasts for perkiness.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she couldn't hear the sounds of the movie anymore. Bucky was on a different page, scrolling through a wall of text. He stopped only for the photos. There was no way he could absorb information that fast and yet he was shaking. His breath hitched. "You stupid fucking dumbass…"

"Bucky?" Jane sat back down. "Are you okay?"

He wiped his puffy red eyes. "I'm great. Super. Just browsing some stuff."

He clicked off the article about Captain America's heroic demise in the Arctic, and they finished the movie in silence.

When it ended, they started another one. It was close to midnight, and on any other night, Jane would stay up well into the early morning hours waiting for an alert. Even so, she closed her eyes while Sarah rushed to escape the Fiery gang and continue her quest to save her brother from the Goblin King. When she opened them again, the laptop was in sleep mode, her neck ached from the awkward position, and it was three in the morning.

She blinked the blurriness away, rubbing her neck as she stretched her tired bones. Her stomach rumbled, more evidence of her messed up circadian rhythms. There were probably a few energy bars laying around if she was really that desperate. She went to the sink and chugged water to stave off the gnawing in her gut. A sigh made her ears perk up. It was followed by a mumble. The cushions shifted as Bucky rolled on his side. His knees were pulled under his chin, his shoulders hunched. He was shivering.

"Bucky?" Jane took a step.

His hair covered his face and she didn't know if she should push it away. He moaned, hands clutching at air. Words tumbled from his lips that she didn't recognize. There was more Spanish, some English, and was that Russian?

"Don't look," he whispered. His eyes fluttered and Jane thought he was waking up, but then they once more fell closed. "Don't look at it…"

"Look at what?" Jane wondered aloud.

His arms were wrapped around his midsection. Coat on, of course. Gloves on, of course. He was wrapped in layers of cloth, and yet he was shivering. Running to the closet, Jane grabbed her grandma's old knit blanket. She used to say it could keep you warm in an ice storm, and while Jane had never tested that theory, she had no reason to doubt Grandma Foster's wisdom.

There were tears in Bucky's eyes, and it almost brought tears to Jane's. She couldn't say why. Surely, even knowing they were soulmates, it would take more time to reach that level of empathy. But he looked so small, frail even. His largeness seemed to weigh him down like a stone on top of his chest. Jane draped the blanket over him, careful not to make any noise or sudden movements. His body seized for a moment, then relaxed. His arms slowly dropped and his face unscrewed itself.

Jane stood back, waiting for him to cry out again, or wake up in a panic. He continued to shake, but his breathing was steadier. Jane brushed the top of his head without fear. He murmured another Russian word which turned into a snore.

_'What's happening to you, Jane?'_ she asked herself as she impulsively leaned in to kiss the top of his head. _'You can barely take care of yourself, now you want to take care of him?'_

But it felt right to her, the way nothing outside of her passion for the stars ever had. Calling him an experiment was wrong and made her feel nauseous for reasons she couldn't pinpoint, but he was a mystery she was dying to solve. He'd come into her life as if carried by the breeze. Now she prayed he wouldn't leave it the same way.

* * *

Jane woke up at the crack of dawn. She had set an alarm on her phone which blasted in her ear, reminding her not to hit snooze. The loveseat wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, but it was better than returning to her trailer and leaving him. Bucky grumbled at the windchimes ringtone but didn't stir. That was fine with Jane. She had a lot of work to do.

Her first stop was 7-11. She bought her favorite chips and pretzels, not knowing what kind Bucky would like and hoping to God they had similar taste in salty treats. Next was the library. An hour went by as she scoured the psychology and self-help shelves (of which there was actually more than one!). They were a bit thin on 'your soulmate has PTSD', but what she found would keep her busy all day if she let it.

"Be patient," she mumbled to herself, taking notes with her right hand and turning the pages with her left. "Always be willing to listen. Don't try to solve all problems. Don't say 'just get over it and move on'... no one really does that, do they?"

She finished the introductory chapter and looked at the clock. It was almost ten. Bucky would be up by now and wondering where she was. Jane spread out all five books she'd found, picking the most relevant two to check out. She carried them to the front desk where Sadie was already hard at work.

"She's never going back to you," she told her phone as the open-shirted man on the screen got down on his knees before a glamorous woman in a flowing red dress. "Uh-uh, not happening. She's with Eduardo now, and he's a real man."

"Morning, Sadie," Jane said, dropping the books on the counter and fishing out her library card. "Busy day so far?"

Sadie, a round-faced woman in her forties with dyed blonde hair and a tan, scoffed while examining her nails. "If you can call it that. The plumber had to postpone so I don't get a working toilet until tomorrow. And then Mrs. Gonzalez decides she wants to host her 'Network Marketing Presentation' in the back room. For two hours! What does she think this is, a vacant lot?"

"Well, it is a library," Jane muttered.

"Hmph. Going to put in a stronger lock one of these days. With a deadbolt!" She grabbed Jane's books to scan them. "At least you've had a good week. I heard you got a new friend staying with you."

Sadie waggled her eyebrows as Jane coughed into her hair. "Yeah, that's uh… we met a few days ago and you know, we got to talking."

"Talking. Right." Sadie stamped the return date inside the front cover of 'Put the Soul Back in Soulmate' with a flourish. "You got nothing to hide here, dear. Better one of us has a man. All I've got is Mr. Weinburger and his laundry list of lifelong passions."

"Oh, is he on to something else now?"

"Gardening," Sadie said, smacking a stack of books in the 'Recently Returned' bin. "After War Historian was _definitely_ his calling. Next week, it'll be fly fishing! I don't even…"

"Well, he's retired," Jane said. "He needs a hobby. It's… not…"

Jane stared at the pile of books. The library's war history collection was, as expected, noticeably lacking. She didn't even have to raise her head to see the book on top. 'Heroes of World War II' was stamped in regal white lettering over an American flag backdrop. Beneath it, a man in a star-spangled uniform was flanked by a team of six. All of them bore the same severe expressions, like the invading Nazi forces were on the horizon, just out of view of the camera. Jane studied each face, noting their features, always coming back to the man in blue just behind Captain America.

Sadie blinked. "Something wrong?"

Jane barely heard her. She had the book in her hands and held it to the light. The photo was old, digitally remastered and colorized to give it a more vibrant look and catch the attention of potential readers. There was an eerie perfection to the image, rendering any similarities to a living person moot. That alone should have proved to Jane that she was imagining things. She flipped to the chapter on the Howling Commandos. The rest of the book was in black and white, photos displayed in all their grainy, seventy-year-old glory, and now the resemblance was unmistakable.

"James Barnes…" Jane muttered. The intro paragraph only mentioned him briefly. Captain America's right-hand man, an esteemed soldier promoted to sergeant straight out of basic training, the only Howling Commando to be killed in action.

His smile made Jane's stomach flip. The last time she felt anything like that was two days ago…

* * *

The couch was empty when Jane got back. For a moment, cold fear twisted in her gut. Maybe he had second thoughts and left. She pushed that aside and dropped her three library books on the table.

"I'm home," she called out. "Bucky?"

He didn't answer. The door to the back room was open. It sounded like someone was inside. "Are you there?" Still nothing. Jane approached the door. "Sorry I was gone for so long, but I was wondering, did you have a grandfather who…"

As she got closer, she recognized the sound of water. Light streamed out a crack under the bathroom door. His coat hung on the peg. Jane let out a sigh of relief and went to pour herself a glass of water. Once she was properly hydrated, she ambled into the back room, away from the windows and beeping machines. She'd checked them all last night for loose screws or glitches, but everything seemed to be in perfect working order.

She started for the lab. Best to give Bucky his privacy. It was only because he opened the door so fast that Jane turned around. Somehow, she'd missed him turning off the water and fumbling with her towels.

He was wearing a large white one around his waist. And nothing else.

Jane first took him in as a whole. Wet dripping hair, a strong column of neck, a thick, muscular chest, toned abs, bulging arms.

Arm.

The flesh one held the doorknob, the other hung at his side. Metal plates with a red star painted near the shoulder, clenching fingers that whined at the slightest movement. A web of white puffy scars forming a maze in his skin where the prosthetic joined with his body. The scientist in Jane processed it immediately. The arm twitched and swayed like a normal human arm, which meant it had nerve endings connected to his brain. There was likely a port attached to his spine as well, otherwise, he'd never be able to stand upright. This certainly explained why he wouldn't take his coat off.

And once Jane had reached that conclusion, the reality of what she was looking at came crashing down around her.

Her mouth opened.

The shriek was almost out and then Bucky was on her. His warm human hand was over her mouth, the cold metal one held her upright. He was shaking again.

"Don't scream," he hissed, kicking the door shut. "I swear to God I'm not going to hurt you. I will explain everything, just please don't scream. Please."

His voice, his eyes, everything about him was so earnest, it blew through Jane's common sense and every college dating tip she'd ever had drilled into her skull. She nodded, sucking in all the air her lungs would take as soon as his hand dropped. Gears spun in her ear, making her jump. Bucky backed up a step. His towel was loose but even Jane's hindbrain only cared about that arm. He held it to his chest, staring at his artificial fingers. They really did move like any other extremity. He could do sign language if he wanted.

For all that Jane wanted to say, and all that she reasonably should've said, only one thing felt right, and in some ways, terribly wrong. "Who are you?"

Bucky's head dropped. His shoulders bunched as he raked his fingers through sopping hair. There weren't any chairs in here, which wasn't good. Jane had a feeling she'd need one.

"I'm not… what I look like," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I'm not as young as I look. I'm a lot older."

Jane's stomached started to turn.

Bucky's eyes took on a faraway look. "A lot older…"

* * *

She waited for him to get dressed. He left the coat on the bathroom door but returned to the lab in a long-sleeved red shirt and his usual black gloves. Outside, the afternoon waned. Trucks drove by, honking their horns just because they could. People Jane knew by name, and some whose paths she hadn't yet crossed, went about their day, not giving her a second glance. She was the 'mad scientist' of Puente Antiguo. Anything odd that might be happening beyond her doors was just par for the course. Nothing to worry about.

Jane held the book in her lap, tapping the cover. She glanced at Bucky as he sat with her, but couldn't speak. The book was in his line of sight, but she moved her arm just in case. He sighed. "I took a damn good picture."

It was hard to say if he was speaking to her or himself. Maybe both. Jane flipped through the pages, only the first fifty or so were about the Howling Commandos. The same man appeared in multiple photos; alone, with friends, posing with a rifle, looking over a map on the hood of a car. It was hard to look at the flat images for more than a second. Not with the genuine article less than a foot away.

"This is impossible," Jane said. She looked at the page, then at Bucky, then the page again. "You haven't aged."

Bucky winced. "Feels like I have sometimes. The last few years… decades… most of the time I didn't know where I was. I didn't know anything. Like I was… nothing…"

His eyes turned wistful. Jane tried to nod, but her neck wasn't getting the message. Looking at him now, no one would ever suspect what was hidden under that shirt. If she looked hard enough, the metal might shine through the microscopic holes in the fibers. He put his hands in his lap and she heard the plates shift.

"So you're really James Barnes," she said, fingers running across the page. "That's not your grandfather or even your father, it's you."

Bucky nodded. "It was. I hope it can be again."

He was being cryptic and Jane didn't like it. She dropped the book on the coffee table and inched closer. "It says you fell off a train."

Another nod and a shiver. "Yeah, I remember that part. My arm broke my fall." He tapped his metal fingers. "That's where they found me. HYDRA they… took me."

"HYDRA was a nazi organization, right?"

"More or less," Bucky said. "They had their own ideas, though. Hitler was a means to an end for them. They wanted power their way. Through fear, control… me."

He told her a story like something out of a movie. One very specific movie her father had loved, but which Jane was always told she was too young for. She never did watch it all the way through, even when she was of age to understand the government conspiracies and brainwashing. It wasn't really her genre anyway. Now, here she was, entering a world very much like The Manchurian Candidate, but which had been her soulmate's personal hell for close to seven decades.

They went over his time in the army, Jane flipping through the book as he provided commentary. "That's Dugan. He used to talk all about his girl back home, but we all knew his true love was that mustache. Bastard spent an hour on it every morning."

He talked about that fateful train ride which had earned him more 'posthumous' awards than a single page could cover. He sifted through the flashes of memory during infrequent bouts of consciousness. Losing his arm, being dragged through the snow, getting injected with mystery chemicals to make him faster, stronger, a more efficient weapon.

"I felt everything," he stared at his covered left hand. "I don't think anesthesia worked on me, so they didn't bother. They took the whole shoulder while I watched."

Jane reached out, though she didn't know if she really wanted to touch him. "Can you… does it have feeling?"

"Kind of. There are points where I have pain receptors, but it's more…" He motioned at his chest, at the scars.

An ache was building in Jane's chest. "We can stop if you want."

Bucky shook his head. "You need to know."

He told her about the chair, the restraints, the shockwaves through his brain erasing everything that made him human. The trigger words, the punishments when he tried to lash out, the torture, the ice.

The deaths.

"I don't know how many times they woke me up." He was hunched over, staring out the window. It was still light out but felt like days had passed. "It was always a blur. Just lights and noise… and then they'd say those damn words and I was gone. That was how they used me to kill their enemies. I knew it even then, and I wanted it to stop. I would've done anything to just _make it stop."_

Jane closed her eyes. It didn't stop the tears, which burned her cheeks. "D-do you know how many?"

Bucky stared straight ahead. "A lot. Just one would've been bad enough, but I was good at what I did. No one ever saw me. No one knew I was there at all. I was like a ghost story. That's what my handlers used to say. They'd laugh about it while they were strapping me down."

His bitter tone had turned into a growl. Jane leaned back, fear flashing through her stomach, there and gone in an instant. What remained was a wave of numbness she couldn't put a name to. Every word of his story pierced her skin, key phrases spinning through her mind like a broken record. If he kept talking, she didn't know. That one water stain on the window grew and distorted the longer she stared at it.

At some point, the sun changed positions. Jane blinked and it was in her face. She shielded her eyes, turning away from him. That wasn't because she didn't want to see him. She knew it and reassured herself constantly. His voice trailed off long ago. He might've been waiting for her to ask questions or burst into tears or demand he leave her home and never come back.

The fog in her eyes and thoughts cleared, and as she returned to herself, two things were immediately apparent. Everything Bucky had just told her was real and not a figment of her imagination, and he wasn't sitting next to her anymore.

She whipped her head around. The sky was darkening and it was hard to see, but he wasn't in the kitchen or the lab. The door to the back room was still open, but inside was pitch black. Jane jumped off the couch. She checked the front doors, but they were locked. There were no new footprints in the sand. He hadn't left, so he had to be somewhere inside.

"Bucky?" Jane checked all the closets, feeling like an idiot. He was way too big to fit in there (unless he had other superpowers he hadn't mentioned yet). Just to be sure, she did a thorough sweep of the back room, from the bathroom to the walk-in closet Darcy had claimed for herself. Nothing. "Bucky, where are you?"

She rushed back to the couch, heart racing. There wasn't even a shadow on the wall next to hers. It was like he'd vanished into thin air. Like he'd never existed at all.

Jane checked her lab one more time. It was a mess in there. To think, she was the more organized of her friends in college. She could barely see the door to the roof hanging open like it definitely wasn't supposed to…

It was warmer outside than usual for this time of day. Jane left her coat behind and jogged up the steps, taking two at a time. Bucky was laid out on one of her lawn chairs near the ledge. He was the first thing Jane saw as she released the air in her lungs and let her knees give out. She closed her eyes, caught her breath. From so high up all sounds were muted. There was nothing to distract her from him; his coat which he'd gotten back on at some point; his limp brown hair around his unshaven cheeks; his hundred-year-old eyes on the sky.

He was beautiful, Jane realized. Handsome, of course. Hot as hell as Darcy would say, but beautiful was the best word for him. It almost felt wrong to look at him. Like she wasn't worthy.

"Wanted to give you some space," he mumbled, not looking at her. "Sorry if I scared you."

"I'm fine," Jane said. She took a breath and got herself up. There was another chair by the firepit. Jane dragged it over. "Really, I am."

Bucky licked his lips. "You're not. You can't be."

"Yes, I can."

"Not after that." He turned on his side. It didn't break Jane's heart, but it took a chunk out. "I told you what I am, what I've done, it's not exactly something you can come back from."

"But they forced you to do it, didn't they?" Jane swallowed back bile as she recalled that part of his story. Suddenly all those instances of her mark burning felt like nothing. The worst pain she'd ever experienced in her life felt like nothing. "You didn't want to hurt anyone."

"I wanted to hurt them," he said, closing in on a smile but not quite getting there. "Sometimes, they'd keep me out long enough that my mind would start to clear up. It was never enough for me to do anything, but I'd think how great it would be to take any one of those bastards by the throat…"

He grasped at the air, words failing him. Or he chose not to finish that sentence. Jane swallowed. "Are they looking for you?"

Bucky's jaw twitched. "I don't think so. I made a pretty dramatic exit."

"Then what are you going to do? Just keep wandering?"

Finally, he looked at her, soulful eyes full of pain, exhaustion, and overwhelming sadness. Jane had never considered herself all that empathetic. Just another part of their soulmate bond it seemed. His suffering was now hers.

"I don't know," he said. When he moved, the gears in his arm turned, like nails on a chalkboard. "I guess it depends on you."

"Then you want to stay with me," Jane said.

He tried to remain stoic, but the rays of hope shone through as he cleared his throat. "Only if you want me to. I understand if you don't. This is… probably not what you were expecting."

"I never knew what to expect," Jane said, and it was true enough. "I never even thought this day would come. Now that it has, it's got me thinking about some things." She stared at the sky, already dotted with her beloved stars. "I've spent a lot of time alone. More time than I really care to measure."

"People are exhausting sometimes," Bucky mumbled.

Jane chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I used to tell my mom when she got on my case about it. She never understood why I spent nights up in my room studying instead of going to parties or out on dates. Not that I never dated, it just wasn't high on my list of priorities. Neither was making friends until I got to college and even then, all they wanted to talk about was astrophysics. I guess in a way, they were perfect for me."

She glanced at Bucky, who was watching her intently. Try as she might, she couldn't be discreet with him, and he nodded her on, sensing her discomfort through their growing bond. That or just smelling her fear.

"I've been so single-minded ever since I was a kid. All I wanted to do was prove my theory. I never even thought about I'd do when it was over. It's like the journey mattered more to me than the results. And I think that made me forget I'm not the only one seeking something. I'm not the only one who feels alone and rejected. I'm not the only one who matters, if I do at all."

"You do," Bucky said firmly. "You matter, Jane. I don't-"

She puts a finger to his lips, licking her own. "I can't imagine what you've been through. The pain you've endured… I wish there was something I could do to make it better."

"You're here," he said, moving closer. "That helps."

"But I have to do more." Jane fought against the pressure building in her skull. "My mother used to say soulmates carry a piece of each other with them, and when you meet, you become whole again. I never believed her until now." She took his hands, lacing their fingers together. He tried to pull the metal one away, but she wouldn't let him. "I know this is a… unique situation we're in, and I know it won't be easy, but we deserve to be whole, Bucky. You deserve to be whole."

They leaned in as the blue sky darkened. The flow of cars, always sparse to begin with, had slowed to a trickle. Everyone was either at home or at the bar. Izzy would be counting out the register. Sadie would be on her third mid-evening break. Even the birds had their nesting spot for the night. The air was still. The town was sleeping.

It was just them.

Jane traced her words on his palm, making them both shudder. Soulmarks were sensitive enough to a regular touch. This was as intense as the first brush of lips. Jane confirmed that by closing the distance between them. For a moment, Bucky was frozen, as if unsure what he should be doing right now. Jane would've happily explained it to him, but then he started to kiss her back and oh, how good he was.

Every doubt in her mind was gone. She took in the feel of his hot mouth, his calloused skin, his solid muscles. Wetness dripped onto her cheeks, so she kissed him harder, letting him know he didn't have to be afraid. The road before them was long, but they'd take it together. Maybe someday, they'd even have a third to walk with them.

As the night wore on, they fell into silent contentment. Jane snuggled up to Bucky's chest, telling him all about the stars and her theories and the corners of the galaxy she hoped they'd visit someday. If either of them was cold or tired, they wouldn't say. It would ruin the moment.

And if the figure of a man dressed in green and gold armor watched them under a cloak of magic, they wouldn't need to be concerned. It was a beautiful, perfect night for him, too.

* * *

Seven days went by fast. Too fast. Jane had never been more aware of the passage of time and she hated it.

Darcy took a cab into town. How she found a service willing to drive so far out of the way, Jane didn't know, but she couldn't have been more grateful. According to her texts, Darcy would be there at a quarter to one. It was five to now and Erik's car had just pulled up next to her trailer. Jane watched him from the window as he nearly pitched face first a pile of loose sand. Those loafers weren't the best for trekking through the desert, but Jane didn't hold his lack of preparation against him.

He'd sounded so excited over the phone when she told him she had something big to show him. If only he knew how big this really was.

Last night they got take out from Izzy's and Jane educated Bucky on the finer points of modern cinema with an 80s marathon. He pigged out on tacos, laughed with her at the ill-advised kidnapping of an obstinate Bette Midler and sighed with relief when Mary McFly's parents finally shared a kiss and saved their family's future. In those fleeting moments, when the skin around his eyes crinkled and his teeth shined brilliant white, Jane saw not a reserved, skittish man broken down from years of torture, but an easy-going Sergeant like the one in her book. It had filled her with more happiness than she'd ever known, and she let herself linger a bit longer on their goodnight kiss.

That morning, they chewed on waffles with milk and fresh berries and not a single word was spoken. Jane thought about it several times, but Bucky's gaze never met hers. After eating, he retreated to the bathroom, claiming he needed to wash his face. He was still in there.

Now the moment of truth was upon them. Her phone lit up with a new text. Darcy's cab had just dropped her off.

Jane watched through the windows as her intern waved Erik over. This would be the first time they ever met in person. Once or twice, Darcy had peeked over Jane's shoulder during Skype calls, asking him to send a bottle of Akvavit their way. Erik never did fulfill that request, and judging from Darcy's pout, he still hadn't.

Leaving them to get properly acquainted, Jane peeked in at Bucky. He was waiting by the door, coat and gloves at the ready. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

Bucky rolled his shoulders. "I will be in a second."

"We don't have to," Jane said, stepping further inside. "Really, don't do it just because you think you have to."

"Jane, if I wanted, I can be all but invisible," he said, inching out of the shadows, "but I can't be invisible all the time. Sooner or later, they're going to find out, so let's make it sooner."

He tried to smile, and to his credit, it would look perfectly real to someone not bound to him by soul. Jane took his hand, the metal one, brought it to her lips. It was still strange every time those inhuman fingers moved in the most human ways, but her unease had dulled to a barely noticeable twinge.

Perhaps she was naive. If Erik ever learned the truth, he'd certainly have some choice words for her and Bucky both. The rational side of her mind continued to prod at her in the dead of night, reminding her of all the ways this could go horribly wrong. Trusting a stranger (soulmate or no) was one thing. Trusting a stranger who used to be a weapon for a Nazi cult and was old enough to be her grandfather… well, she wasn't bound to find that in a soulmate self-help book.

But then he'd tell her a joke he heard on TV while she was working, or regale her with a tale of the scrappy misadventures of one Steve Rogers while struggling to hold back tears, and she'd feel that rush of heat starting from her left hand to her heart.

And so, she unlocked the door for Darcy and Erik. greeting them with a smile. "Hey guys, good to see you."

She accepted Erik's hug and kiss on the cheek. Then she hugged Darcy, completely forgetting herself.

"Uhh…" Darcy awkwardly patted her back. "Great to see you, too, Jane. I brought you a Florida magnet."

"That's awesome. Come inside, both of you." She helped Darcy carry her bag and shut the door behind them.

Erik went immediately to her computer. "Okay, let's take a look. When you told me you had a surprise, Jane, I was honestly expecting to find this place half sucked into parallel dimension, but none of my readings corroborated that theory. I assume this is a bit more mundane."

"Only a bit," Jane coughed.

"Did you get laid?" asked Darcy.

Jane's barking laughter barely covered the strangled sound from the back room. "Uh, no. Not like that, but you're kind of on the right track."

"What does that mean?" Erik had finished checking her desktop for a Top Secret Breakthrough folder and frowned at her. "Does this not have to do with your research?"

_'Moment of truth,'_ Jane glanced at the door as she took a deep breath. "This is something that will affect my work down the line, but only in the sense that I might need to spend a bit less time on it. I uh… something very interesting happened to me right after Darcy left for her trip, and I wanted to tell you guys in person."

She went to the door. The knob was already turning. It cracked open and Bucky peeked at her. Jane gave him the most reassuring smile she could muster as he took her hand, and together they stepped out into the open.

"Erik, Darcy, I'd like you to meet Bucky, my soulmate."

Beyond the aching bundle of nerves sending jolts through her bloodstream, Jane knew this would be a day to remember. From Darcy's uncanny impression of a fish to Erik's colorless face and loss of speech. Bucky gave them a weak almost wave. "Nice to meet you."

All things considered, this was going about as well as either of them could have hoped. Erik was swaying and Jane had to grab him a chair. Darcy failed several times to speak as she took in Bucky's broad shoulders and chiseled cheekbones, so she settled for giving Jane a thumbs-up. As the tension slowly faded, Bucky and Jane stood together, sharing everything they need to with a glance.

_'It's going to be okay,'_ she told him, willing him to hear her through their bond. 'Everything's okay.'

She meant it, and she felt it.

They'd never be alone again.

* * *

**A/N: Spanish translation (thanks to Gavilan for the help):**

**Bucky: Thank you for the food, Ma'am. Everything was delicious.  
Izzy: Oh, you think you're charming, huh?  
Bucky: No Ma'am, just grateful for a good meal.  
Izzy: Well, that's very kind of you. Please come again.  
Bucky: We will.**


	4. Together

**A/N: Another chapter that took way too long to finish. This seems to be a pattern with this story. **

**Oh well, not chapter will be the last. Thanks so much for sticking with it and I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

Erik looked at Bucky.

Bucky looked at Erik.

Erik sipped his coffee.

Bucky twiddled his thumbs.

They were alone together for the first time in three days. Jane and Darcy had some errands to run, and they trusted the men to make nice with each other for the long sixty minutes to come. Bucky was starting to think Jane was a bit too optimistic.

The first day he met Erik and Darcy was one of the longest in recent memory. Erik frequently dragged Jane away to grill her about what was going on. Darcy, meanwhile, stayed close to him, asking enough questions to write a biography on him. At least she could've if he deign to give her more than three-word answers.

"Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn."

"How did you get here?"

"Bus."

"Why New Mexico?"

"Felt like it."

"Why the gloves?"

"Felt like it."

"How much can you bench?"

"...what?"

As the afternoon wore on, they had a tense lunch and a decidedly brief dinner. Jane stuck by Bucky's side as much as possible. She sat between him and Erik at the kitchen table. If Erik made a face or a passive-aggressive remark, Jane took Bucky's hand and immediately changed the subject. By the time the sun had set, it was almost a routine.

"I was telling Bucky about my research yesterday," she said over coffee after a meal of gourmet gas station burritos. "I've made a lot of progress since we last spoke, Erik. Do you want to see my data?"

"Of course," Erik said, shooting a quick glance at Bucky. "To be honest, I don't know how you do it, Jane. There can't be a lot of people out here to talk astrophysics with."

Bucky frowned. "I don't know, I think I've been doing okay. Jane's a good teacher and I'm happy to learn."

"Hm, I see," Erik muttered.

Before Bucky could respond, Darcy suddenly remembered this great story from Florida she absolutely had to tell everyone right now. It went on for an hour until Erik made an excuse to go to bed. Bucky would have to buy Darcy a drink one day.

So much frenetic action and noise made his head hurt. It wasn't just Erik's words, it was the looks he'd send Bucky's way whenever Jane wasn't looking. The suspicion and skepticism so strong, it seemed to physically slap Bucky across the face with how unworthy he was. The worst part was that he couldn't blame Erik for feeling that way.

After an uneventful breakfast, during which Jane distracted her friends with talk of inane town gossip while squeezing his knee under the table, Darcy produced a list of essential processed treats they needed at 7-11. When Jane tried to protest, Darcy put on a sad, pleading face, and Bucky could practically feel his soulmate's resolve crumbling.

"She's good at that," he'd muttered, shielding his eyes just in case he wasn't immune either.

"She's going to be one hell of a politician someday," Jane had muttered back. "Don't worry, she'll get bored and drop it eventually."

"She can't do it herself?"

"I don't trust her with my credit card."

"That's fair," Bucky said, ignoring the growing heat on the back of his head. He couldn't see Erik, but he knew exactly where the man was. "You can go if you want to. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Jane asked.

Bucky gave her a rough approximation of the smile he once used to charm the pants off the girls in the dance hall. To his surprise, she actually blushed. _'Heh. I still got it.'_ "Don't worry about me, doll. I've dealt with a lot worse than an overprotective godfather."

It took a bit more convincing, but Jane finally grabbed her wallet and headed out the door with Darcy, promising to be back in an hour. That was fifteen minutes ago. Erik and Bucky spent it staring at each other.

One of them was going to have to speak first. Bucky knew that. It was probably going to be him. Bucky knew that, too.

His past was a marked Before and After. Trying to reconcile the Bucky Barnes he once was with the Bucky he was now was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Yet sometimes, when he looked in the mirror a certain way or laughed at a particular word he found amusing, he could see glimpses of his old self coming through. As if the parts of himself he thought long dead were slowly coming back to life. The Bucky Before never liked to sit quietly for too long. Especially when he was bored. Five minutes was his limit. After that, he had to move or he'd surely lose his mind. It made for a difficult time at church every Sunday. His parents used to scold him for his bad behavior, pointing out more demure and obedient children as examples he should follow.

"Why can't you be more like your friend Elmer?" his mother would ask, which showed how much she knew because Elmer was a brown-nosing little tattletale and would never be Bucky's friend.

The Bucky In Between was not loud. He did not get bored. He did not fidget or moan or sneak away to play ball with his friends when Mom wanted him to wash the dishes. If he wasn't given an order, the Winter Soldier was a simple tool waiting to be used. Barely more than a statue capable of taking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide. An object.

A nothing.

Now this new Bucky, the After Bucky, didn't know how to sit and make conversation with a man who had already decided he wasn't good enough for his little girl. Bucky's body remained frozen in place like the Soldier's, but his tongue swelled in his mouth, aching to be let loose, just like a certain little boy he once knew.

"I…" it came out like a sigh and hung in the air, dragging on for far too long until his voice gave out.

Erik frowned. "Where did you say you were from, Bucky?"

He spoke the name like he didn't believe it was real. Bucky swallowed. "Brooklyn, sir."

The man, though decades younger than Bucky, carried with him an air of authority that reminded him of Colonel Phillips. "You're a long way from New York."

"I needed a change of scenery," Bucky said. "I was just passing through when I ran into Jane. Just good luck, I guess."

"Hmm…" Erik pursed his lips. "I'm surprised you made it to Puente Antiguo of all places. It's a bit out of the way, isn't it?"

Bucky shrugged. "I went where the bus took me."

"I didn't know the buses came out this far."

It was like one of those 'debriefings' he'd have to go through after every mission. They'd sit him down in a windowless room. A man he'd never see again would walk in and ask a few questions to make sure the soldier's brain was not so fried as to hinder his abilities, but just fried enough that he was still useful to them.

At least now he could get up and leave whenever he wanted, but it wasn't much consolation.

The minutes ticked by and Jane and Darcy did not reappear to break the tension or distract them with the promise of greasy fast food lunch. Bucky thought about looking through Jane's bookshelf for something to read. It would give him something to do other than stare Erik Selvig down. The other man had yet to blink once, but neither had Bucky.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable," Erik said.

_'It sure feels like you are.'_ "No, sir, of course not."

"But when Jane told me she had a surprise, you're not exactly what I was expecting." He crossed one leg over the other. "Having just one soulmate is a miracle for some, let alone two. Most people who have a mark must accept the fact that it probably won't mean anything. The world's not as small as we think, and with the population increasing every day, you're more likely to one day watch your mark disappear than you are to hear those words."

As he spoke, he rubbed his forearm absently. The skin was bare save for hair and a few age spots, but Bucky had a feeling that wasn't always the case.

"I never expected to meet Jane," Bucky said, clenching a fist, "but now that I've found her, I want to make this work, even if we never find our third."

"I understand that," Erik said. "I just hope you understand that Jane is like a daughter to me. I only want what's best for her, and if I feel like something- or someone- isn't in her best interest, I'm not going to stay quiet."

The way he looked at Bucky, from his worn shoes and gloved hands to his unshaven face and long hair, might've been worse than the handlers. Bucky's body unstuck itself and he could move again, but all he did was drop his head like some overwhelming force was dragging him down.

"I do, sir."

* * *

"Holy frick on a stick, Jane!"

The only thing surprising about Darcy's exclamation in the middle of a convenience store with three cowboy looking guys and one mother with a kid now staring at them was how long it took her to make it. Jane browsed the shelves for mini-pretzels and some sour cream and onion chips for Bucky (they had become his favorite snack), taking her time in choosing just the right brands. While she was at it, she might pick up some energy drinks, too.

"Uh, hello, Jane?" Darcy got right up in her face. "Earth to Jane. We need to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" Jane asked. "I already told you what happened. What, do you think I'm withholding details?"

"As a matter of fact, I do!"

Rolling her eyes, Jane moved around Darcy to the drink aisle. She nodded at the mother, who had lost interest in their conversation and was now trying to convince her skeptical son that three candy bars before dinner would give him a stomachache. Darcy nearly bumped into her running after Jane.

"These things do happen, you know," Jane said. "I didn't come here expecting my soulmate to just walk right up to me."

"But he _did_ walk up to you," Darcy said. "Almost like he knew you'd be here."

"He was just passing through."

"Passing through _Puente Antiguo?_ A place I'm pretty sure is just a little black dot on Google Earth? Oh yeah, _that_ sounds believable!"

Jane snorted. "Right, clearly he's a spy planted by the government to steal my research and capitalize on the potential for space travel."

"Now you're getting it," Darcy winked at her as they made their way to the counter. "It's his face that gives him away."

"His face?"

"He's too hot," Darcy opined. "No normal human should ever have cheekbones like that. His eyes are like sapphires, and then there's his shoulders. Damn, he's broad. Always wearing that stupid jacket, though. Does he have a six-pack? I bet he has a six-pack."

"This is sounding less like a conspiracy theory and more like you ogling."

"Hey, I can appreciate the eye candy while I foil his evil plans," Darcy said. "Seriously though, godlike beauty aside, how'd he even get here? I don't buy that bus story for a second, but I haven't seen another car outside."

"It's nothing to worry about, Darcy," Jane said. She tried to read the labels on the mints and candy bars lined up on the shelves, but the constant buzzing in her ear made it difficult. "Bucky and I have already discussed this. I know who he is and I trust him. That's all you need to know."

"Is it really?" Darcy asked, folding her arms. "Because if you think Erik's not putting him through the wringer right now, you're kidding yourself."

"That's fine," Jane said firmly. "If Erik doesn't like Bucky, he'll just have to learn to deal with it, because Bucky's not going anywhere."

"Unless he really is a spy and he'll be sneaking off in his private helicopter with all your equipment while you sleep," Darcy waved her hands in Jane's face. "Hopefully he'll have the decency to pound you into the mattress a couple of times first."

The mother, standing behind them in line, covered her son's ears and shot Darcy a glare.

"Look, I know this is unexpected and we're going to have to make some changes around here, but I promise you, Bucky is not the kind of person who would abandon someone he cares about."

"That's a lot of faith to have in someone after a week, even a soulmate."

"Let's just say the first few nights were eye-opening." Jane stood up a little straighter. "Bucky's story is his to tell, so just give him space, and he'll talk about it when he's ready."

It was her turn to check out and she dropped her selections on the counter for the bored teenage cashier to scan. She was fishing through her wallet for her card when the doors opened and two men in movie monster masks rushed in with guns drawn.

"All right, everyone down on the floor! This is a robbery!"

Everyone did as they were told. Jane's cards and papers went everywhere as her wallet flew out of her hand.

"Oh wow," Darcy mumbled, her face half crushed into the linoleum. "I did not see that one coming."

* * *

A police car raced down the street, sirens blaring. Erik watched it disappear around the corner and then back to his newspaper. "Kids tagging dumpsters again."

Bucky didn't share his nonchalance. The car had come and gone so fast, and it was too far away for even his enhanced ears to pick up more than static on the radio. What drove him to his feet was a blinding rush of fear in the pit of his stomach. Like the voice that had guided him from Russia to New Mexico.

"Jane…" he whispered.

Erik looked up. "What?"

Bucky took off. He threw open the door, careful not to rip it off its hinges. In the street, he showed no such restraint, running at top speed until he'd overtaken the police car. Some people stopped to stare at him. He had no idea where he was going, but he let his feet guide him to the 7-11. Inside were two masked figures, both armed with rifles. One stood guard by the windows. The other went for the register. He tripped over someone on the ground and aimed his gun at her head.

Jane.

The doors had been bolted, so Bucky pulled them out of the wall and tossed them over his shoulder. Bowling over the first robber, he grabbed the second by the collar and held him high off the ground. The gun fell from his hands and Bucky kicked it away.

"P-please don't hurt me!" The man- no, _boy_\- squeaked. "Please! I wasn't gonna shoot anyone. I just wanted the money."

Bucky growled and threw him on the counter, knocking over display cases full of candy and scratch-off cards. The mask slipped off the boy's face. It was Ricky, and the difference between the wannabe tough guy who'd accosted him in the streets and the sniveling child in his hands was stark.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Bucky demanded.

"I- I thought I'd look cool," he sobbed, tears and mucus flowing. "My friends dared me to."

"So because of that you thought you could _threaten innocent people and get away with it?"_

"I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry! Don't tell my mom."

Ricky dissolved into a hysterical mess. At the door, his friend was dazed and unable to move. No need to worry about him anymore. Bucky sighed and let Ricky drop. The cops had just arrived and took in the scene with a mixture of awe and confusion. They could deal with these idiots. Bucky had more important things to do.

He kneeled at Jane's side, helping her sit up. She was pale and shaking, hair clinging to her face and getting in her mouth, but there were no injuries that he could see. It didn't stop his racing heart as he clung to her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Jane croaked, pressing her face into his shoulder. "It's going to be okay."

Bucky didn't realize what she meant by that until something moved in his peripheral vision. The other would-be hostages had composed themselves, and all eyes were on Bucky. A little boy pointed at him while pulling on his mother's shirt, but she was already looking.

Darcy's mouth fell open. "What the actual fuck?"

Bucky didn't have a clue what she meant until he turned and saw a shredded glove mixed in with shards of glass. His stomach sank. Curling his metal fingers, he found no resistance. There was only the heat of Jane's body through her shirt and the unobstructed whine of turning gears.

"That's metal," one of the three men holed up by the drink aisle exclaimed. "Boy, your hand is made of metal!"

"I…" Bucky looked at Jane, who snuggled closer as if to protect him. "Yeah, it is…"

"Are you all metal?" the man asked.

"No, just…" Bucky motioned weakly at his arm.

"Oh damn, his whole arm," said the second man. "That must've hurt."

"Y- yeah, kind of…"

"Is that how you ripped the door off? That thing must be strong."

"Well-"

"Can you shoot rockets?" the little boy piped up as his mother tried to silence him. "Do rockets come out of it?"

"Bobby, you can't ask people questions like that. It's impolite."

"Uh… no, it doesn't," Bucky gulped.

"What about lasers?"

"No, I can't do that either."

"Bombs?"

"No…"

The boy put his hands on his hips. "Well, that's boring."

"Show some respect, kid," one of the three men said. "He just saved all our asses."

Bucky would've said that was an exaggeration, that Ricky and his dumbass friend were more likely to piss themselves than pull the trigger, but he couldn't get the words out. "I'm… sorry about the door."

The girl behind the counter poked her head up now that it was safe. "I honestly don't get paid enough to care. I'll just tell my boss the wind did it."

"Yeah, we aren't really paid enough to care either," said the cop as his partner cuffed Ricky.

A smattering of nervous chatter went through the store as Bucky and Jane helped each other to their feet. He couldn't let her go just yet, though fear of accidentally bruising her niggled in the back of his mind. They shared a look as the crowd gathered, the same thought passing through them.

There was no coming back from this.

* * *

Erik took the news… surprisingly well.

Bucky rolled up his sleeve and Erik insisted on getting his reading glasses because he had to be seeing things. After putting them on, he took them off again to clean them several times. When they were absolutely spotless and there was still a hunk of metal attached to Bucky's shoulder, he muttered something about needing air and then stumbled down the street toward the bar.

So yeah, it went well.

"At least now you don't have to wear this all the time," Jane said, holding his patchwork jacket in one hand as he played with the fraying ends of his faded black shirt. "Though we might want to take a trip to the secondhand store tomorrow. Better than being stuck with my ex's old things."

"I am so sorry, Jane." He ran his hands over his face. "I completely fucked up."

"What are you talking about?" Jane kneeled before him, taking his hands. "You didn't do anything wrong, Bucky."

"But I should've… I don't know, held back a little." He flexed his now bare fingers with a grimace. "Or at least made sure my stupid gloves were on right."

"You did exactly what you've always done," Jane said, lifting his chin. "You protected me, and you protected all those people. That's what you got into the army for, isn't it?"

"That's what I wanted to do." He rubbed the arm mournfully. "It didn't exactly work out that way."

His nails dug into the cracks between the plates as if he could rip them off and find flesh and bone underneath. The star was red like blood and bore countless scratch marks. Jane touched it gently. It was a painful reminder of the years he'd lost, and just looking at it made her want to cry.

"Hey come on," she said, taking his metal hand. "I told you, we're in this together. That means wherever you go, I'm with you."

Bucky stared at her wide-eyed. "You'd leave Puente Antiguo? But your research-"

"It doesn't matter where we are," Jane chuckled as her eyes watered. "The stars will always be there."

As she kissed the tips of his fingers, he pulled her into his lap, holding her close and breathing in her scent. If only this could be the answer to all his problems, he'd never let her go again.

"Thank you, Jane," he breathed.

"Thank _you,_ Bucky," Jane replied.

It was a beautiful moment that would've been much nicer without Darcy sitting across from them with the war heroes book in her lap, gawking at Bucky.

"Are you immortal?" she asked.

Bucky sighed. "No."

"Are you an alien?"

"No."

"Are you a vampire?"

"No."

"If you were, would you bite me?"

"What the fu- _NO!"_

And as ridiculous as it was, Jane couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

When the sun had set, Erik still wasn't back. Jane threw on her coat, ready to walk to the bar and coax her old friend home with the promise of some hot water and a nice warm couch to sleep on. Somewhere between setting her system to automatic and pocketing her keys, Bucky fell into step beside her. They walked down the street hand in hand like they were a perfectly normal sight. That Jane had chosen to walk on his left side and hold his left hand was not preferable, but not altogether unexpected.

"People are staring," Bucky said as a man walking past them failed to stop staring in time to avoid hitting a lamppost.

"And they're seeing a couple walking down the street," she said.

"You have the second most ridiculous level of optimism I have ever seen."

Jane kissed his cheek. "With you around, how could I not?"

He let go of her hand only to put his arm around her. It dragged his sleeve up a few inches, exposing more of his silvery wrist. Though his knee-jerk reaction was to melt into the shadows, he resisted it. There were few people out and about looking for something to do in this endless desert. Bucky smiled pleasantly at all of them, the way his childhood and adolescence in Brooklyn had taught him not to do. A few smiled back. One couple pointed at him and whispered. Every time they walked under a light, Bucky felt a million eyes on him.

But it was okay. He could handle this.

The bar was a small brick building on the edge of town. It had a sign above the door, but years of wear and tear in the oppressive summer heat had worn the name away, leaving only the sad single word 'bar' in chipping blue paint. Now, it was simply 'The Bar' in the eyes of the locals. If the owner was bothered, she never let it on. So long as the place was packed every night, what did she care what they called it?

Music blasted through the cracked open windows. Something vaguely countryish Bucky didn't recognize. It was hard to say with all the talking and laughing of seemingly hundreds of people inside. Long ago, he'd been taught to block out background noise and focus only on the mission. Maybe one day, he'd remember how.

For now, he listened to some guy complain to his buddy Jeff about his nagging wife and a bunch of men and women slurring their congratulations to Oscar for 'finally sticking it to that shithead project manager.'

Jane rubbed his arm. "Are you okay?"

She'd been asking him that a lot lately. "Fine."

"Are you sure?"

No, he wasn't. Not at all.

But he had to be.

He gripped the handle and pulled the door open. Inside was around thirty people. The bar was lined with men in trucker hats guzzling beer and yelling at the mounted TVs. A group of women in the corner chatted over martinis. Erik had his head down at a table near the jukebox. The drink in front of him was nearly full. It probably wasn't his first.

The floorboards creaked under Bucky's weight. Even over the music and talking, it was far too loud. His ears ached with every whine of flimsy wood. He reached for Jane's hand, but made a fist instead of taking it.

It started with the bartender. He happened to glance up while nodding his head to one of the drunk guy's rambling and locked eyes with Bucky. He blinked at the newcomer before his eyes went wide and he nearly dropped the shot glass he was cleaning. One of the truckers noticed him staring and followed his eyes. Then his friends looked. Then the women in the back started shushing each other. One by one, every single patron of the bar looked at Bucky until the once lively tavern went dead silent.

Music continued to play, much softer than before. That might have just been Bucky's senses dulling. He heard nothing except his own thunderous steps and two people in the far left corner whispering.

"That's him, right? That's the guy."

"From the robbery?"

"It's gotta be."

Erik was the only one not looking. Either he was too far gone or he just didn't care to greet them. Bucky walked across the bar ahead of Jane, taking the brunt of the stares. The number of eyes on him felt insurmountable, but he pushed through the cloud of agitation gripping his heart.

The next thing he heard was not a whisper or a cry of fear, or even a hateful jeer from some backwards puritan type hoping to burn the witch. It came from a random guy on the other side of the bar. He had a bushy gray mustache and silver bolo tie hanging over a large beer belly. As he looked at Bucky, a smile broke out on his wrinkled face, and then he brought his hands together.

Another person clapped, too. Then another. Then two more. They got to their feet and others followed. Not one by one this time. More like ten by ten.

Everyone was standing and applauding. They whistled and cheered and stomped their feet. Bucky was frozen in the middle of the room, his entire world spinning. Jane clung to him, or maybe he clung to her.

"Great job today!" One guy said.

"You really showed those punks what for," said another.

"Hey bartender, let's have a drink for the new guy on me!"

Similar praise and well-wishes were thrown at him from all directions. He didn't even know where to look anymore, so he settled for Jane, her brilliant smile and shining eyes as she hugged him.

"You're a hero," she whispered.

And even without the roar of agreement from the crowd, Bucky would've believed her, just because she said it first.

* * *

Life in Puente Antiguo was much easier for James Barnes after that day.

Of course, nothing happens overnight. It was still a few weeks before he was comfortable going out on his own with a short-sleeved shirt on. The harsh summer weather didn't allow him to bundle up. Even at night, his enhanced metabolism left him too warm for more than a thin windbreaker. Soon his old coat went into the closet, not to be seen or heard of again until winter.

That didn't mean he could simply hide inside. Though Jane would never complain about missing work to walk around town with him, Bucky knew she was running herself ragged. Between tracking storms and helping him become acclimated to modern times, it was a wonder she had time for anything else. Were it not for Bucky physically carrying her to her trailer any time she worked past one in the morning, she probably wouldn't sleep.

So one day, when they were out of milk and frozen pizzas, he offered to go to the store himself.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jane asked, holding her shopping list to her chest.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't?"

That was the end of the argument. Bucky won before it even began, and so off he went with Jane's shopping list and a roll of bills in his pocket. The grocery store, a shoebox stuffed into an aging apartment complex, was fairly busy. A young father was weighing produce while trying to calm his crying baby; an elderly woman examined the canned goods; two men argued with the clerk over the price of a lottery ticket.

All of them stopped to say hello to Bucky. One man shook his hand. A little boy asked for his autograph.

None of them looked at his arm.

It was the start of a new chapter for Bucky. He might've thought meeting Jane and winning her heart was the final step in re-taking his life, but it was only the first. Now he lived in an isolated desert town with a population of barely one thousand. One thousand people whose names he didn't yet know, but who all knew his. From then on, every time he set foot outside of the lab was the same.

"Good morning, Bucky!"

"Hey there, Buck. Looking good."

"So Mr. Barnes, right? I'm kind of a hobbyist robotics engineer and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about that arm of yours-"

That last one, Bucky soon learned, was Derek. Most days, he could be found in the library reading science fiction books. He also never seemed to understand that Bucky blatantly ignoring all his questions was a silent request to stop and not an invitation to continue.

As much of a nuisance as the boy could be, his enthusiasm was a testament to how the entire village of Puente Antiguo functioned. A seemingly invincible man with an arm made of metal was a novelty for all of five minutes. After that, he was just another citizen, if a very popular one.

Jane had her own theories. "I guess when you live so close to Area 51 and all those alleged UFO sightings, you learn to take things as they come."

"Or everyone here is nuts," Darcy suggested. "Could be that, too."

Whatever the case, Bucky couldn't say he minded the attention. On the contrary, as the days went by and he ventured further and further from the safety of the lab, he found many people perfectly happy to talk to him and drink with him and treat him like any other person.

Like a friend.

As the days turned to weeks, Bucky grew restless cooped up in the lab every only TV and Darcy's incessant chatter to distract him while Jane worked. He needed something else to do. He needed to feel useful. As proud as he was of Jane and all of her accomplishments, he was just old-fashioned enough that he couldn't abide by her as the sole breadwinner. As soon as he felt able to, he was out on the town looking for work.

If the army had done one thing right, it was granting him a plethora of practical skills any employer would kill to find on a resume. There wasn't a single person in town he couldn't talk to, whether it was thanking Izzy for another meal in Spanish or signing 'Good Morning' to the deaf man cutting meat at the butcher shop. When Mr. Rivera's car broke down, he knew exactly which of Jane's spare parts would fix it. Though he was a bit behind on modern technology, he was a fast learner. Within a week of Jane teaching him computers and Darcy explaining to him the finer points of Twitter, he had helped Sadie create a working online directory for the library which some people actually used.

This became his life for the next few weeks. Word spread quickly that Bucky would do any odd job, no matter how small or strange, for only a small, negotiable fee. Be it cash for a day's work temping at the pet shop or the sweet old grandma on the edge of town making him brownies when he fixed her window shutters.

Over time, his relationships with Jane's companions began to improve. Erik stuck around as long as his vacation time would allow, and then reluctantly bought a ticket home. Bucky tagged along when Jane drove him to the airport and stood off to the side as she hugged him good-bye.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, patting her shoulder. "Call me if you find anything, and stay safe out there."

He glanced at Bucky, as he was wont to do whenever he reminded Jane of the dangers of being too impulsive. Unfortunately for him, Bucky had become confident.

"You don't have to worry, sir," he smiled, taking Jane's hand. "I'm with her every step of the way."

Darcy had a much easier time getting used to Bucky's presence. Her job as a research assistant for an astrophysicist wasn't nearly as fulfilling as making up schedules and taking calls for Bucky from people and businesses that might require his services. To her credit, she was quite organized.

"Good morning, Boss Man!" She greeted Bucky one morning as he shuffled into the kitchen. "I take it Boss Lady is still recovering from the epic railing you gave her last night?"

Bucky shot her a tired look. "You know, Lewis, if I ever talked like that in front of my mom, she would've washed my mouth out with soap."

"Good thing I used it all up this morning," Darcy grinned, tapping a clipboard. "So today you've got some dogs to walk. That should be fun."

"Sounds good," Bucky said, gulping down orange juice. "What else?"

"Mr. Hernández needs help painting his fence. He says his back is acting up again. Fifty bucks work for you?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Okay, that's at eleven, and then at two, Izzy was hoping you'd help unload this week's food delivery. That's another forty from her."

"Fine."

"And the Puente Antiguo Women's Association is offering you five hundred dollars."

_"Five hundred dollars?_ For _what?"_

"To do everything else on this list with your shirt off."

It was exactly the routine and stability he needed. Every morning, he woke up in Jane's arms. He kissed her awake. They ate breakfast together. He went off to work while she began her daily tasks in the lab. He came home tired but fulfilled with a pocket full of cash. Jane made a conscious effort to be finished by then so they could have dinner. They talked about anything and everything. They watched television. At night, they worked their bodies into semi-comfortable positions on the cot in Jane's RV and kissed each other good night.

Though they still had a long way to go, it was obvious they had never been happier. Jane was working harder than ever, following every potential lead, no matter how small. It wasn't just about her anymore. Bucky believed in her. He spent his free time reading her books, asking her questions, listening to all of her ideas without ever getting bored.

This was their life. Their happily ever after slowly taking shape, leading them into a glorious future.

And Loki was there for it all.

He watched behind a veil of magic, as intangible as he was invisible. The prickling worry in the back of his mind that Heimdall's all-seeing eyes or Odin's ravens might spot him hiding in the shadows of Midgard was slowly leaving him. Sitting down to lunch with his mother every day helped alleviate the stress, both his own and hers. If she ever wondered why he'd become so quiet and reserved in his father and brother's absence, she had yet to say so. Whenever he thought she might, he'd go to the tavern with Hogun and Fandral and turn everyone's mead into apricot juice. That would put Frigga's mind at ease.

Sometimes he'd stay in Jane's lab and watch work. If she wasn't scolding Darcy for playing on her phone when she was supposed to be working, she was drawing up maps of rainbow bridge energy and coming up with potential algorithms for harnessing it (wouldn't Odin be surprised to find how close humans had come to the answer). Occasionally, she'd drop her pencil, or leave an important paper next to the window where the wind would blow it away. Loki was happy to assist her in avoiding such minor inconveniences. The pencil was always right where she needed it, and her papers remained in a neat and undisturbed pile.

Other times, he'd follow Bucky on one of his daily odd jobs. Some of his tasks left Loki baffled. Taking Midgardian beasts out for a run or assisting in the repair of a door was one thing- even Thor in a more charitable mood would've been happy to help- but then he'd be off mopping floors and scrubbing the mirrors in bathrooms. Such menial labor was beneath a man of his ability. Even the lowest level servants in the royal Asgardian palace used magic to cleanse the washrooms. Never their hands. While Bucky was not an Asgardian and demonstrated nothing but satisfaction with his position, Loki couldn't help but be offended on his behalf. Briefly, he considered turning the store owner into a fly and crushing him for such a travesty. Then Bucky finished his work and spent the next hour chatting with the old man about 'the game last night' and the recent birth of his first grandchild. The light in Bucky's eyes as he gushed over photos of the newborn stayed Loki's hand. He would spare the owner for now, but as the Midgardians said, he was on thin ice.

On the nights they went out, Loki was with them. It was becoming more common for Jane to put down the spectrograph and go out with Bucky for long walks across the desert sands. Sometimes, they went to the bar. Jane wasn't one for alcohol, but as Bucky soon discovered, his metabolism didn't allow him to get drunk anyway. They stuck to a few light beers and gazed into each other's eyes as the moon charted her course across the sky.

It was… nice to watch them. Nice to see them happy together.

Their lives were not perfect. Bucky still woke up some nights in a panic, eyes darting around for invisible threats. He'd memorized every point of entrance in the lab and sharpened all of Jane's knives. She had given him one of her spare laptops to use in his free time. When she was looking, he watched videos about cats on a website called YouTube. When she wasn't, he researched firearms. The gun he had kept for his journey remained hidden where he could reach it. Just in case.

One day, Jane caught him reading an article about Captain America. He refused to look at her, but she saw the tears in his eyes.

"Will you tell me about him?" she asked.

He closed the laptop. "Someday."

Some wounds simply ran too deep.

But for all the pain, there was still joy to be found. They laughed together far more than they cried. Jane continued her research. Bucky acclimated himself to the new millennium. Erik Selvig made his weekly calls. Darcy Lewis wrote out their schedules.

Loki blinked and a month had gone by. It was noon on a hot, sunny day when Darcy nabbed Bucky's laptop and opened a blue and white website.

"Okay…" she muttered, tongue stuck between her lips, "got all your information in… and we're done! Bucky Barnes, you are officially on Facebook."

"Wow," Bucky said through a mouthful of tuna sandwich, "all my dreams have finally come true."

"I know, right?" Darcy grinned, grabbing her phone. "Hang on a second and I'll friend you. Also, Jane, why haven't you updated the page I made you?"

"You made me a Facebook page?" Jane looked up from her computer.

Darcy scoffed. "Seriously? I did that the week I got here. Have you logged into it once?"

"I'm busy."

"Clearly not that busy if you're going on dates every night."

"It is not _that_ often."

"It could be," Bucky grinned.

"Don't you start," Jane muttered.

"How the hell did either of you ever manage without me?" Darcy clicked her tongue. She put her phone away and went back to Bucky's profile. "Let's see, Bucky Barnes is in a relationship with Jane Foster. He's interested in women… is it just women or men, too?"

Bucky nearly choked on his last bite of sandwich. "Why does it want to know that?"

She shrugged. "Just an info question. You don't need to answer it. You will want to log into your triangle account and add a few hobbies and interests, though. I think I got most of Jane's for her profile, but-"

"Hang on, what about a triangle?" Bucky asked.

" You know, triangle," Darcy said like it was obvious, "the website for incomplete triads searching for their third. Jane, didn't you tell him about this?"

"Must've slipped my mind."

"Unbelievable, you two," Darcy groaned. "To date, they've helped bring over a hundred and fifty thousand triads together. All they need is a handwriting sample, some basic information about your likes and dislikes, and viola! Your third will be at your door before you know it."

"Those numbers don't sound inflated at all," Jane said.

"I for one am excited," Bucky replied.

"Oh come on," Darcy cried, "you're telling me you guys aren't even a little bit curious about your third? It could be anyone off the street. One of you might walk past him someday and not even know it."

"Or every day," Loki muttered. Not that he had to. They couldn't hear him if he screamed his lungs out.

"Just think how ugly he must be."

Loki started, sputtering nonsense as Darcy walked through him on her way to the kitchen. _Ugly?_ This girl was lucky Jane enjoyed her company, otherwise she'd spend the rest of her life as a field mouse.

"Why do you think our third would be ugly?" asked Bucky.

Darcy threw up her hands. "I don't know. Maybe he's not. Or she's not. Maybe they're another twelve out of ten like the two of you."

"I'm a twelve out of ten?" Jane pointed at herself. "You're joking, right?"

"Jane, please, that's the smartest thing Darcy has ever said," Bucky smirked.

"He's right!" Darcy shouted thoughtlessly. "You two are already crazy hot on your own. Together, you're like a raging hotness inferno burning entire cities to ash in your sexy wake. If we added one more hot person to this equation, we might as well just nuke the planet."

"...Darcy, go take a lunch break."

"If I do, I'm going for happy hour."

"Have a good time." Jane slid down in her seat as Darcy skipped down the street out of sight. "What am I going to do with her?"

"Drive her out into the desert and leave her there?" Bucky suggested.

Jane swatted at his arm, but he dodged. Trying again yielded the same result until Bucky grew bored and hoisted Jane into his arms, ignoring her indignant squeak and demands to be let down. Tickling under her arms silenced her complaints. She wheezed and pushed at his arms as he carried her to the couch.

"Such a jerk," she said into his neck.

"You know it," Bucky laughed.

For a time, they sat in silence, merely enjoying one another's company. Loki hovered at the door, unable to leave but unwilling to get closer. This was a private moment he was intruding on, and in spite of all the times he'd used this spell to gather intel on his enemies or learn humiliating secrets to hold over the heads of his friends, spying on Bucky and Jane made his stomach ache in the strangest way.

Not enough to leave of course, but he did still give them space.

"Do you ever think about him?" Jane asked.

"Our third?" Bucky pursed his lips. "Yeah, sometimes. Not always, but…"

The unfinished thought echoed in Loki's ears. A shudder coursing through him. It seemed to start in his hands and work its way up. If they could see him, all they'd find was a cool, ambivalent face, behind which a torrent of emotion was growing. Stronger than even he thought himself capable of.

"I was thinking the other night," Jane said, "when we were in bed together, how nice it would be to have someone else there, holding me or holding you. We're so cramped in there, but somehow, the bed felt too small."

Bucky shook his head. "I bet other couples don't have to deal with this shit."

"Other couples aren't incomplete triads."

Her words were barely audible, spoken through lips that didn't seem to move. The look in her eyes was far off. For the first time since Loki saw her through the fog of the potion, she looked like she didn't have the answer. How would she feel if she knew he was right in front of her? Just out of reach. Just out of sight.

"I bet he's smart," Bucky said, rubbing her shoulder. "Like you."

Jane smiled. "And you."

"Pft- sure."

"You _are_ smart, Bucky." Jane rolled on her back to look in his eyes. "You're smart and kind and strong and handsome. If our third is even half of what you are, I'll be the luckiest woman in the world."

Something tugged at Loki's chest. He didn't know what it was, only that it reminded him of when he was a child and he saw a little girl with flowing blonde hair and a dress weaved with flowers at a summer banquet in Alfheim and realized how beautiful she was. This was like that, but infinitely greater.

"If he's half of what you are, I'll be the lucky one," Bucky said, rubbing his metal fingers over a smooth, unblemished, wordless palm. "I wonder if he'd even know who I am."

"I do, James," Loki whispered. "I know you very well…"

As the moment passed, it was time to take his leave. To stay would have been a greater pleasure than he would even admit under torture, but there was still much to do. The low ceiling and dim lights of Jane's lab became the towering arches of Asgard's royal palace. Sunset turned to muggy midday. His home for over a millennium had never felt colder, or so uninviting.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Loki left his chambers and headed for the training grounds. A few hours tearing straw soldiers apart with his knives would help clear his head. Then maybe he'd spend some time in the library brushing up on his spell casting. The wards he'd placed around Bucky's mind should have been unbreakable, but it never hurt to be sure.

And then there was Jotunheim…

"Your highness!"

A guardsman with a youthful face and a weapon far too large for his slight frame sprinted around a corner. His face was red and soaked in sweat. Just how far had he run?

"What is it?" Loki sighed. "Make it quick. I am quite busy."

"Forgive me, my prince," the guard said, "but your presence is required in the throne room immediately."

* * *

They were supposed to be gone for five months. Five months. Barely two had passed and now the palace floors once again shook with the earth-shattering roll of thunder.

Loki felt it several times on the long walk from one side of the palace to the other. He could have easily crossed that distance in under a second, but he felt like being lazy today. It gave him time to think about just what a terrible day this was turning out to be. What could he possibly say when he walked through those doors and found his dear brother tearing apart another dinner table?

A roar greeted him as he made his entrance. It was aimed not at him, but at the window where Thor had absconded. His cape hung limp on his shoulders, Mjolnir much less grand while strapped to his thigh and immobile.

"Good afternoon, Father," Loki bowed his head to Odin on the throne. "Brother. We weren't expecting you home so soon."

"Neither was I," Odin said, his single eye firmly on Thor's back. "Your brother had different ideas."

As if taking that for a summons, Thor whirled around and stormed to the center of the room. He stood in front of Loki. In his rage, he might not have seen him there at all. "Father, I was within my right to act."

"So you have said," Odin grumbled.

"The grand duke's son insulted me. Insulted our family!"

"He said nothing we haven't heard countless times before." The All-Father squeezed Gungnir so hard, he was close to snapping it in half. _"You_ nearly killed the boy."

"I accepted his challenge to a duel," Thor declared proudly. "Did you expect me to hold back?"

"I expected you to act with diplomacy," Odin said. "To consider the repercussions of your actions and how they may affect not just yourself, but the people you represent. How do you think Alfheim views us now after what you've done?"

"If they are as intelligent as they claim," Thor spat, "they will know to respect us."

A hand closed around Loki's shoulder, gentle and warm. He turned to Frigga's sad, smiling face as Odin stepped off the throne and went to yell at his eldest directly to his face. The battle was just getting started as Frigga led Loki outside.

"Let them discuss it in private," she said. "I believe it's time for lunch."

* * *

Loki sipped his tea. It was his favorite, brewed by Frigga out of leaves from her garden. Long ago he had asked her for the recipe, and she had answered with a secret smile and a promise to tell him someday. That day had yet to come, but Loki trusted it would soon enough. No need to pry.

It was as fragrant and delicious as ever, and he would've enjoyed it so much more without Odin's gruff voice in his ear and Thor's indignant shouts ramming a hole in his skull. Somewhere beyond their anger was Jane's breathy laughter and Bucky's rough timbre. He held onto it as he drank, closing his eyes to picture their faces. When he opened them again, Frigga stared at him, and his heart went still.

"Ignoring me, I see," she quipped.

Loki took her hand. "I could never. I was just… thinking."

Frigga chuckled. "Yes, you always are. I believe from the moment you came into being, your mind was already in motion."

A servant arrived with a tray of cakes for them to choose from. Frigga took two along with some fruit. Loki found he didn't have much of an appetite.

"It is strange," Frigga said when they were alone again.

"What is?" Loki asked.

His mother stared at him thoughtfully. "For some time now, you have been quiet. I believe since your father and brother departed."

"It is only because they were gone," Loki said with every appearance of casualness. "I was not so much quiet as I was bored."

"Yes, I see," Frigga said, taking a delicate bite of cake. "I suppose that will no longer be an issue now that they have cut their trip short."

Loki leaned back in his chair, wishing the faint droning in his ears was just a horde of bees making their home under his chair. It was hard not to hear Thor and Odin's debate, even while tucked away in one of the many courtyards. The fight would no doubt last well into the night and remain unresolved as long as Thor insisted he was in the right and Odin refused to hear his concerns with an unbiased ear.

"It happens every time, doesn't it?" Loki muttered.

Frigga sighed. "Your brother carries such a burden on his shoulders."

"He may very well collapse under it," Loki said. "Do you believe he is ready to be king?"

Such a question would be just short of treasonous had anyone else asked it. Frigga paused, setting her plate down. "I believe when the time is right, Thor will rise to the occasion, and become one of the greatest kings the nine realms have ever known."

Loki looked away, the sweet aftertaste of the tea turning bitter. "Of course. And I know where I will be."

"Where you want to be I hope." She took his hand, giving Loki a few seconds to digest her words. "Sometimes I wonder where the little boy I raised has gone. What a man he's become. So strong and intelligent, but not always in touch with his own feelings."

Loki furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

Frigga nodded. "Loki, as your queen, I have done my best to teach you to be a leader. That is what the people of Asgard need. Your brother cannot guide them into the future alone, and I know you would both lay down your lives to protect this realm with no regrets." She rubbed his knuckles, caressing the skin. Never before had she been so fixated with his hands. "But I am not just your queen. I am also your mother, and I wonder if I have been thinking too much like a queen and not enough like a mother."

"There is no mother in all the universe better than you," Loki said, surprising even himself with the thickness of his voice.

Frigga's eyes shined. "I wish that were true. All I've ever wanted was for you to grow into the man I always knew you could be. A prince Asgard could be proud of, and you have far exceeded all my expectations."

"Mother," Loki began, but Frigga silenced him with a look.

"My son, you've always done what is best for Asgard." She turned his hands over and ran her fingers down his bare palms. "Now I want you to do what's best for _you."_

Standing, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding him like she had when he was a child wrought with nightmares. Centuries had passed, and he had long since surpassed her in height, yet he always felt small in her arms. Safe and protected. Clenching his hands into fists, the skin burned with the heat of the words hidden by magic.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, reluctantly stepping away. "I hope we can have lunch again soon."

She smiled. "I'm always here when you need me."

* * *

All was quiet as Loki made his trek down the halls. Somewhere in the last few minutes, Thor and Odin's fight had ended. This didn't mean the conflict was over. Loki knew that all too well. He also knew exactly where to find Thor now that he'd been dismissed from the All-Father's presence.

The crown prince's antechamber was awash with talking. Sif and the Warriors Three had arrived and gotten to work reassuring their leader that he was completely in the right and only a fool (or the All-Father) would say different.

"He can't stay mad at you for long," Fandral said, clapping a hand on Thor's shoulder. "You'll see, by tomorrow all this nonsense will have blown over."

"You only acted as you saw fit to defend your peoples' honor," Hogun agreed.

Thor met their encouraging words with a grunt as he paced around the room. "He knows nothing. Age has blinded him!"

"The All-Father never acts without reason," Sif muttered.

"He would allow himself to grow soft, complacent." Thor stopped at the window, the sill cracking under his punishing grip. "When I am king, I won't allow anyone to make such a fool of me."

"Thor…" Sif said.

There was no point in talking to him, as they all should well know. It was part of Thor's process. Now that his pride had been wounded, he'd spend a few hours sulking like a child and pushing away anyone who tried to comfort him. Next, he'd decide to 'redeem' himself by embarking on a quest to defeat some monster terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Asgard. He'd return the following morning, sea serpent or wolf carcass in hand, and the people would rejoice. They'd chant his name to Valhalla. Odin would beam at his eldest with boundless pride. Thus would complete Thor's grand redemption.

And it was all so very… funny.

It had never been so funny to Loki as it was right now. In fact, it was so funny, he had to laugh. Long and loud and with total abandon, Loki laughed. He laughed until his stomach hurt. Until his eyes were wet with tears. Until Thor was before him, nostrils flaring with unchecked rage.

"What amuses you, brother?" he asked, and it was only because Loki was his family that he hadn't already swung his hammer.

"What doesn't?" Loki shook his head. "There is not a single thing about this whole situation that I don't find to be of the utmost hilarity. Do you not see that, brother?"

"I don't," Thor growled. The floor vibrated under their feet as the sky grew dark.

"What a terrible shame that is," Loki grinned. "If only you could see yourself from the outside, and then we could both enjoy a laugh."

Thor gritted his teeth. "You dare mock me-"

"Of course not," Loki said, uncaring of the grey storm clouds forming over their heads. "I would never mock you, brother. I would only tell you the truth. They may call me the liesmith, but you, Thor, can always trust me for an honest opinion. And in my opinion, your little stunt on Alfheim has done nothing but prove you are not ready to be king. In fact, I wonder if you ever will be."

"Loki!" Sif snapped, only for Thor to drown her out.

"I've heard enough of this," he rumbled.

"Have you?" Loki raised an eyebrow. "I haven't been banished yet. You could order me to leave your chambers any time you want, but perhaps you know it will only prove me right. Tell me, what did that boy say to incite your anger? Did he question the mighty Thor's strength in battle? Or perhaps he drank from your tankard."

"Be silent."

"Did he attempt to take Mjolnir? I wouldn't be surprised. If an oaf like you is worthy of its power, surely anyone can lift it."

"Be _silent,_ Loki."

"Or perhaps he did nothing and it was all an excuse. Just one more way for the golden son of Asgard to prop himself up and look big, so that no one ever sees how small you really are."

Loki expected pain, but it still hurt. He knew he'd be knocked off his feet, but Thor's punch sent him flying. Lightning flashed as his back hit the wall, the shock of the impact darkening his vision. When he came to, he was on the ground and his chest was burning. It had only been a few seconds from the looks on their friends' faces.

"Oh dear," Volstagg muttered.

He wasn't just talking about Loki. The doors were open, and Thor's room was no longer safe from the outside world. How long Odin's men had been standing there, they might never know, but Odin himself had been there long enough. The scene before him was clear. His second son on the ground, clutching his chest where he'd been hit. The firstborn, fist still raised, not yet aware that he was being watched. Thor's anger had melted away as his cheeks flushed. His mouth fell open, pure horror in his eyes as he realized what he had done.

"Loki…" he croaked. "I…"

This part wasn't funny. Not at all, but Loki laughed anyway. "Look at that. To think, that was all I had to do."

_'I didn't even need the Frost Giants.'_

He worked his way to his feet, milking it the tiniest bit. The blow was not so devastating as to inhibit his movements, and each passing second chipped away at the pain until it was little more than mild discomfort. There was nothing more he needed to do. Thor would face the consequences of his actions and maybe even learn a lesson or two. Stranger things had happened.

"Where are you going?" Odin hissed, blocking his way.

Loki smirked at him. "Forgive me, All-Father, but I am needed elsewhere. And I believe you have a wayward heir to discipline."

He tried to walk past, but Odin took him by the arm. "Do you think you can just leave after what you've done?"

"What _I've_ done?" Loki asked. "You must be more specific than that. Am I not the victim here?"

"You provoked him."

"Maybe so," Loki said, jerking himself free, "but if it is I who would face judgment, I'm afraid you're too late for that. I don't regret anything I've done."

"Loki…"

"But you need not worry about me, Father. Nor should you look for me." He held up his hands as he backed away, far from the soldiers reach and into the light of the sun. It shone down on him, warming his pale skin. If Odin looked closer, he might see words shimmering on Loki's palms. "I'll be in good hands."

Smoke cloaked his body as he teleported to his room. There were only a few things he needed and storing them in his bottomless pocket took less time than the guardsmen would need to surround his door. He left a double of himself on the bed and spirited off to the rainbow bridge. There he sent another dozen copies to all the corners of the galaxy. That would keep Odin busy until his arrogance no longer blinded him to the meaning behind Loki's words.

Now, there was only one thing left to do.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome once again to 'Pop Culture of the Modern Day 101'. My name is Darcy Lewis and I'll be your instructor today. Why don't we get started with a pop quiz." Darcy tapped her pen on Jane's hijacked whiteboard. "Complete the following sentence. Hello…"

On the couch, Bucky picked some dirt out of his fingernails.

Darcy tapped her foot. "I said, 'Hello.'"

"Hello, Darcy," Bucky said.

"No, no, that's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I?"

"Look, dude, either you watched the movie like I told you to or you didn't." She jammed her finger at the board. "I say again, 'Hel-_lo.'"_

"My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die," Bucky said without the slighted change of infliction. "Better?"

"I'd appreciate less sarcasm, but yes," Darcy smiled. "Good work, B- for you. Let's move on. Now, The Princess Bride, being such a well-known eighties classic, comes with a long list of quotable lines, and if you're going to survive on the internet, it is imperative that you know all of them. First, let's go over Miracle Max. What is the difference between mostly dead and all dead?"

Bucky gave Jane a pleading look. "For the love of God, _save me."_

She was in the corner, face deep in one of her many computer screens. Words and numbers scrolled past her eyes as she absorbed the information like a sponge. Not once did she blink, let alone look up at her beleaguered soulmate.

"I just don't get it," she muttered.

Bucky sat up. "What's wrong?" He watched Jane type a single key several times, utterly dead to the world. "Jane?"

"What?" Her head snapped up. "Oh, no, sorry. I was… these readings don't make any sense."

"Is an alien spaceship about to crash to earth?" Darcy asked, folding her arms. "Because otherwise, I'd appreciate you not interrupting my…" Dual glares bearing the heat of a thousand suns killed off what remained of her words. Darcy dropped the marker and slunk off to her desk. "We'll just do this later."

As she disappeared behind her phone, Bucky mouthed 'desert' at Jane, who ignored him.

"The last three events all followed roughly the same pattern," Jane said, pulling up the files one at a time. "Sudden high winds, rising temperatures, unidentifiable lights in the sky…"

"Please don't tell me Darcy was onto something there," Bucky said.

"Very funny," Jane groused. She rolled her chair over to one of her weather machines. It showed nothing out of the ordinary for a hot summer day in New Mexico. "All the other times, it still resembled natural phenomena. This… I don't know how to describe it, but the way the numbers are fluctuating, it almost seems deliberate."

Bucky stared at her. "Are you saying something is controlling the anomaly?"

"It just doesn't make any sense," she whispered.

Whether her words were a spell or a temptation of fate, in the next few seconds, the quiet lab transformed into absolute chaos. Every piece of equipment started beeping. Lights were flashing. Machines vibrating. Darcy squeaked and fell out of her chair in shock. For a split second, Bucky thought about going to help her, but Jane was on her feet, laptop in hand. The screen blinked like the system was overheating. Numbers flashed in and out, meaningless to him but everything to her.

"Oh my God," she said, shaking, "oh my God, it's happening. Bucky, _it's happening!"_

_"What's_ happening?" He shouted over the noise.

Jane either didn't hear him or didn't care. Grabbing her camera bag, she was out the door and in the truck in seconds. The engine rumbled to life as Bucky's brain restarted and reminded him that she was about to possibly drive into a tornado.

"Jane, wait a minute!" He raced outside as the truck took off. Picking up speed, he easily caught up and pulled himself into the passenger seat. Were it not for the machines, his ranting at her recklessness and demands that she slow down could've been heard for miles.

Darcy was left to stare after them. "Okay, I'll… I'll just wait here, then."

* * *

Secret passageways to the universe were everywhere. Loki knew all of them by heart.

Well, perhaps there were a few left which had escaped his notice. He was still a young man after all. Barely in his second millennium.

This one was smaller and more carefully hidden. He had found it years ago during a game of hide and seek and used it infrequently to preserve its secrecy. Midgard had always been a dull vacation spot anyway. Not a place one would care to visit twice.

So it amazed him how inviting the sand dunes were as he stepped through the portal leaving majestic Asgard in his wake. Miles of sloping goldenrod seemed to span the planet. If he didn't know for a fact that Midgard was mostly water, he'd think it was all desert. A tiny brown town dotted the sand far ahead of him. When the wind was right, it was all but invisible. Though he could've blinked himself into the town without trouble, Loki chose the scenic route. The longer he walked, the more sand he crushed underfoot. The more sand he saw, the more endearing it became. In fact, he almost liked this sun-baked tundra, or at least what it represented.

His ears picked up a sound. It originated in the village and grew louder as it crawled through the sand coming straight for him. As the black dot chugged along, it took form as a chunky vehicle spitting smoke and swerving down a narrow, poorly maintained road well off the main path into town. It barreled through a sand dune, sailed over a small crater, and when it looked like it might miss Loki entirely, took a sudden sharp turn in his direction. Over the roar of the engine, Loki vaguely heard a man yelling at his companion. Something about her needing to calm down before she drove them into a ditch.

Loki didn't change his pace, even as the truck came screeching to a halt in front of him. Inside were two people, their faces shadowed by the sun. Behind the wheel was a petite woman struggling to push her hair out of her face. Her passenger, a sharp-eyed and broad-shouldered man, fixed his gaze on Loki, the fear and suspicion in his eyes unsurprising, but rather sobering.

Jane Foster, dedicated scientist that she was, didn't share Bucky's apprehension. She didn't seem to have noticed Loki at all. Turning off the engine, she threw herself out of the truck, a small device in her hand perhaps meant for recording atmospheric pressure.

"It was right here," she was saying. "Right here! My scanners picked it up! What-"

She looked at Bucky, who looked at Loki. He seemed numb to everything except the man in front of him. It might've been strange, except when Loki looked down, he was still wearing his armor, which would be quite out of place in a realm like Midgard. Perhaps he should've changed before he got here.

As Jane calmed down, her eyes found Loki. It took her another moment to realize that the person in front of her was real and Bucky could see him, too. Her arms dropped, the device slipping through her fingers.

For the longest time, there was silence. Nothing but the gentle hum of the village and their own breathing. They might've been the only three people in the world as far as Loki was concerned.

He took a step. Bucky whipped a gun out of his boot. "Hey, don't move!"

Jane gaped at him. "Bucky, what is that?"

"A gun," he replied.

"Why do you have a gun?"

"I always have a gun. It's for protection."

"Protection from _what?"_

"Stuff like this obviously!" Bucky waved furiously at Loki.

Their bickering didn't hurt his ears. In fact, Loki liked it far more than the sand. Their voices calmed something in him he didn't know needed calming. A chuckle fell from his lips, ending the fight as Bucky fingered the trigger. "What the hell is so funny, asshole?"

Loki didn't answer. He would've, but it wasn't yet his turn. Jane stared at him, whatever fear she'd once had for his bizarre appearance gone, making way for wonder. "Where did you come from?"

His palms tingled, the words pulsing like a heartbeat. Closing his fists, Loki smiled and shook his head. "How strange," he said looking into their eyes, "I can't think of a thing to say."

One thing he hadn't let himself do was imagine how they'd react. He could think of several ways. Confusion like the childhood friends who never wanted to play magic with him because why would they do that when they could play war. Disappointment like the inter-realm officials who expected the Mighty Thor to answer their distress calls instead of his brother. Anger that their third couldn't have been someone else, _anyone_ else…

Jane's whole body shook, her lips parted wordlessly as her hands fell open. On one was a messy declaration of relief from Bucky. On the other, his own vulnerability. Never before had it been so exposed. Loki might've forgotten he was even capable of this.

When he looked at Bucky, the gun was down. It fell into the sand with a soft 'thump'. Now it was Bucky's turn to move. He approached slowly, metal hand in his pocket as if to hide his shame. Loki touched his arm and Bucky tensed. He could've run, but he didn't, and after a moment, Loki pulled his hand out, tracing the flawless palm with his fingers.

He held Bucky's hand, then reached for Jane's. She took it without a word, and that was when Loki noticed her other hand tangled in Bucky's.

So this was it now, the three of them joined together until the universe itself ceased to be. Loki could live with that.


End file.
